


The Arrangement

by theorchardofbones



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: 25!Iris, 25!Prompto, 28!Gladiolus, 34!Ignis, Aftercare, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cuckolding, Dom/sub, F/M, Genderswap, Girl!Prompto, Kinktober, Light BDSM, M/M, Mild Kink, Multi, OT3, Polyamory, Promgladnis, Sub Drop, Threesome, ménage à trois
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2019-04-09
Packaged: 2019-07-20 16:50:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 88,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16141433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theorchardofbones/pseuds/theorchardofbones
Summary: Prompto hasn't had the best luck with boyfriends. In fact, apart from a few random hookups — one hot encounter at a charity ball springs to mind, in particular — she's not even sure she'shada boyfriend. So here she is at 25, with two men knocking at her door... and she's not so sure she can choose between them.Gladiolus, a whiskey-swigging, leather-wearing EMT with a softer side, who happens to be her best friend's brother; or Ignis, the sexy editor-in-chief of one of the world's most famous fashion magazines, who indulges certain sexual proclivities that Prompto never knew she had. Both have their appeal, and both — somehow, incredibly — wanther.While it seems like an impossible decision, however, Prompto may not have to choose after all...A fic for Kinktober 2018!





	1. The Crash

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Kinktober Day 1 — _Masks_**  
> 
> I've been wanting to write a girl!Prompto fic for a while now; after scrapping my original concept and all but forgetting about it, I found myself dragged back in by a certain someone's [fantastic girl!Prom concept](https://mobile.twitter.com/egg_love_bread/status/1038103285872259073).
> 
> In my head, Prompto looks a little like Yuri Plisetsky in this, entirely because of the fan art I saw of him ages back where I thought he was a chick (oops).

Traffic isn’t exactly a rarity in Insomnia; somehow, even though Prompto doesn’t know anybody who owns a car, everybody who _does_ files out onto the streets at the same times and everything grinds to a halt.

It seems like a bit of a bitch, all things considered — taking advantage of one of modern man’s greatest innovations of personal transportation only to wind up moving at the pace of a snail. Not exactly the best way to start the day, and then you have to do it all again on the way back.

It doesn’t faze Prompto, though; maybe her fixed-gear bike doesn’t afford her much protection when the elements sweep in, but it sure is nice to be able to weave in and out between cars while drivers look on in envy.

The cars are at a standstill in every lane for blocks, but they’re a blur as she zips past. When there’s no gap big enough for her to get through, she deftly swoops between cars and finds a new opening to squeeze through.

It’s an art, really: a talent that suits her and her particular line of work. And someday it’s going to get her killed.

There’s no warning — just the glint of sunlight on silver bodywork, and suddenly a passenger door opens, right in her path. To swerve out of the way would take her directly into the taxi in the next lane over, and she has no time to come up with an alternative beyond laying on the brakes. It’s not enough to stop her entirely; her rear wheel kicks up, flinging her forward and into the plush interior of the car’s back passenger door.

Luxury, Prompto decides, doesn’t make it hurt any less.

She’s upright one moment, crumpled up in an inelegant heap with her bike the next. When her face collides with the door, she sees only bright white, and when that painful glare fades it’s replaced with black spots that are mercifully less blinding, though no less disorienting.

For a little while, everything’s fuzzy as she extricates herself from the tangle of her bike and tries unsteadily to get to her feet. She thinks her ears might be ringing, but she can barely register it in her daze.

When a hand grips at her elbow, she leaves it there for a full minute before she finally realises that somebody’s _touching_ her.

She’s fully prepared to yank her arm out of their grip, to snap at them that she doesn’t need their help, when she finds herself looking up into the very worried — and very _handsome_ — face of a man in his thirties.

There’s something about him, something that prickles at the back of her neck. Like she’s met him before, in another time — another world.

His dark blonde hair is slicked into a meticulous side-part, so straight and even it could have been guided by lasers. His jaw is prominent, but in a good way — like he should play the heartthrob on some daytime soap opera — and his thick-rimmed glasses sit in front of a pair of eyes such a pale shade of green they almost look transparent.

Prompto’s staring at the guy’s lips, marvelling at how soft they look, when he speaks suddenly.

‘Are you all right? Do you need me to call an ambulance?’

Prompto lifts her glance to meet the man’s eyes, blinking as if to shake herself out of a dream. She’s starting to think medical help might not be such a bad idea; she must be concussed if she’s staring at this dude as though he’s an angel sent straight from above.

‘Ma’am?’ the man prompts, a little urgently this time.

‘I’m fine,’ she says flatly.

The man sighs and shakes his head. Carefully, he helps her to her feet, where she wobbles precariously and has to reach out for the door to hold herself up.

‘I’m not convinced that you are,’ he replies sternly.

Now that the fog has subsided a little, Prompto realises he has a British accent — it’s nice, she thinks.

Her arm’s all grazed to hell, angry red scrapes running from her elbow up to her wrist, which hurts like crazy to move. The knees of her pants are torn up, exposing pale skin stained angrily red where the fabric has come away. In her mouth, she tastes blood; on closer inspection she finds a cut on her bottom lip.

All in all, she’s come away worse from collisions on her bike — but when the man lets go of her and she takes her first experimental steps alone, the entire city scene seems to swim around her, pitching precariously to the side.

‘No ambulance,’ she blurts as she sees his hand go for his pocket, as if to grab his phone. ‘I’ll be okay.’

Ambulances cost money — money that she can’t afford to throw away, especially if she wound up missing work on top of everything. She’s already attempting to mentally calculate how late she’ll be if she has to walk the rest of the way.

‘Look, this is my fault,’ the man says. He’s stern again, and from his immaculate self-grooming and the cut of his grey business suit, she wonders if he ever hears _no_ at his dayjob. ‘I was nipping out to grab some coffee and I didn’t see you coming. I should have been more careful. If you’ll allow me, I can call ahead to the hospital and—’

And what? Pay her medical bills? Prompto could laugh at the mere thought.

‘I’m fine,’ she interjects. _‘Honest._ If I went to the hospital every time I had an accident in this city, I’d single-handedly put my doc’s kids _and_ grandkids through school.’

She affects a light tone as she says all of this, grinning ruefully, but the man only looks back at her with concern written across his face. To prove herself, she picks up her bike and straightens it out, posing beside it with a little _tada_ motion.

‘You can get to your coffee with a clear conscience,’ she says brightly. ‘I promise I’m okay.’

He still doesn’t seem convinced, but nevertheless he waits until she wheels her bike out of the way and closes the door of the car to allow her to pass. She flashes him a smile as she goes — barely resisting the overly-polite impulse to thank him for nearly breaking her neck — and walks her bike through the gap between the cars.

‘Wait!’

She pauses, glancing back over her shoulder; the man has something neon yellow in his hands as he moves briskly to catch up with her, and she has to blink at it a few times to realise it’s the reflective strip she velcros onto the front of her backpack.

 _‘Wiz Couriers?’_ he reads, frowning at the typeface and the little black bicycle logo.

‘Insomnia’s fastest,’ Prompto replies as she takes the strip from his grasp. ‘For when you need it there, double-time.’

She thinks she sees the slightest hint of a smirk on his lips, but it doesn’t endure for long.

‘I won’t keep you, then,’ he replies. ‘I’ve probably held you up long enough.’

He lingers just long enough for her to affix the strip in place once more and climb astride the frame of her bike; she gives him a wave and he inclines his head in response, turning to walk through the unmoving traffic toward the sidewalk.

* * *

She’s distracted as she sits down to her extravagant dinner of a microwave burrito and a cold beer from the stash in the salad crisper of the fridge. It’s not like she’s _trying_ to think of the guy from her earlier, but still her mind keeps wandering back to him of its own accord.

Even now, hours later, she can’t help but feel like there’d been something so damn familiar about him.

‘Earth to Argentum.’

Iris’s on the other side of the table, clicking her fingers in front of Prompto’s face. The motion disrupts the daydream, and Prompto blinks blearily up at her friend — and soon-to-be-roommate — shaking the image of the man from her thoughts.

‘Wuh?’ she says, through a half-chewed mouthful of lettuce and ground beef.

Iris looks at her with the special brand of disdain possible only from somebody who loves her very much.

‘I _said,_ Gladdy’ll be swinging by on Saturday with my stuff,’ Iris says, ‘if that’s cool. You can totally give us a hand, if you’re feeling generous.’

Prompto makes a face and lifts her hand, where her wrist has resolved itself into a particularly gruesome shade of purple after the collision from earlier.

‘You know I love performing manual labour pro-bono,’ she says, ‘but I’m broken.’

Iris rolls her eyes dramatically and tosses a balled-up napkin across the table, hitting Prompto in the shoulder.

‘You were _fine_ at work, you big baby,’ she says. ‘C’monnnn. There’ll be _wiiiiine…’_

Prompto turns her glance skyward and mulls things over thoroughly. It’s a tempting offer, now that her friend mentions it; wine is the best kind of motivation.

‘I’ll pencil you in,’ she replies at last, with an affectation of disinterest. ‘You know how busy my social calendar is these days.’

Across the table, Iris gives a scornful snort.

Prompto’s injuries from earlier still hurt like hell, but the beer, semi-decent food and good company more than make up for it. A day of hoofing it across town with people’s packages in tow hadn’t exactly helped with the swelling, but she’d somehow made it through. The bath she intends to take before bed will _definitely_ help.

‘Still think you could sue that asshole,’ Iris says with a sigh of exasperation. ‘He could’ve killed you! Who gets out of their car in traffic without freaking looking out the window?’

Prompto shrugs and chomps off another mouthful of burrito.

‘Dude probably has a legal team for his legal team,’ Prompto says after she swallows. ‘He was _fancy._ Probably find some way to countersue for messing up his suit or some shit.’

Her words earn another snort from Iris, which turns into a fit of girlish giggles.

 _God,_ Prompto’s missed shooting the shit like this — three years it’s been since they shared a place in college, and she’s looking forward to all the trouble they’ll get up to once they’re living together once more.

‘All right,’ she says decisively. She pushes her unfinished food aside with distaste and gets to her feet. ‘That’s about as much shitty microwave food as I can handle. You need to pee? I’m gonna go run the bath.’

She gathers up everything she needs while she waits for Iris to do her thing — a laptop on which to binge something on Netflix, a fresh beer, some scented candles. The tub had been the biggest selling point when she had moved into the place a year and a half ago, and she’s grateful that Iris moving in means she doesn’t have to downsize to somewhere without one.

‘All set,’ Iris says as she emerges, flopping onto the sofa. ‘Enjoy your uninterrupted bath, ‘cause I’m gonna be claiming that tub as mine when I’m officially living here.’

Prompto gives her a shrewd look and swats at her gently as she goes. She loves the girl, but there’s no _way_ she’s compromising on bubble baths.

It takes a little finagling — the building is old and the pipes should probably have been replaced a dozen times over — but she manages to get the water to the perfect temperature and fills the tub up full, topping it off with a lavish helping of bubbles and salts. Once it’s ready to go, she lights the candles, flips off the bulb overhead, and heaves her aching limbs into the water.

She’s been watching a Swedish-language show for the past week or two: some fraught thriller that’s as gritty as it is addictive. She’s about as invested in the will-they-won’t-they dynamic of the two detectives as she is in the cases laid out across the series.

The episode starts out with artful captures of the snow, and long, panning shots of barren scenery. She’s glad she’s watching with headphones on, because the imagery is soon overdubbed with heavy breathing and soft gasps, sounds that could as easily be of pleasure as pain.

The scene cuts to an office, a desk of sturdy mahogany; various papers and objects are scattered in disarray on top of it and a pale hand reaches out suddenly across its surface, red-painted nails gripping deep into the grain of the wood. There’s a woman’s moan, long and needy, and Prompto feels a pang of desire surge between her legs.

When the shot drifts further to the right, the woman is bent over the desk, her skirt hitched up past her hips while a man in a crisp suit takes her from behind. His face is hidden, buried in her long, dark hair as he slams into her with such force that it makes the desk rattle. He has one hand around her throat, gripping tight; from the look on her face, she’s more than enjoying it.

The scene’s going on maybe longer than it needs to, and Prompto isn’t so sure she minds — she presses her thighs together and sinks a little deeper into the water, grabbing her beer. As their lovemaking endures, she sips from the bottle and finds her mind wandering.

It’s a partial image — a half-remembered moment, lazily dancing at the edge of her thoughts. She can recall the feel of satin bunched up around her bare legs, the bite of blunt nails where they dug into the flesh of her thighs.

Another throb of lust where she lies in the tub, and when she squeezes her legs more tightly together it feels _good,_ so good she has to chew her lip to keep quiet.

She tries to remember what college year it was: if she was a sophomore or a junior. All she knows is it was some charity masquerade ball that Iris dragged her to as her ‘date’, and that she had been convinced she’d have an awful time until she’d locked eyes with the masked man by the champagne fountain.

When he had come over, she’d made some silly quip about how much money the hosts must have spent on the ball — how surely directing those funds to the charity itself would have been a more worthy expense. That had gotten them bickering about the subject of fundraising, of greed, of the concept of the _elite._ She’d been so sure she’d pissed him off, had offended his prissy Ivy League sensibilities, and yet he’d stuck around and quite happily argued with her about everything under the sun until some woman in white had grabbed him by the elbow and whisked him away for a dance.

He’d found her again later that night, when she’d been holed up by the hors d'oeuvres; had leaned in close to her ear to be heard over the violin quartet, and asked if she’d like to continue their debate somewhere a little quieter.

Out on the terrace she’d almost torn her dress in her haste to get it out of the way, and his cock had been hot and ready as he’d guided it between her thighs, using her legs to bring himself to a groaning climax. After, he’d lifted her up onto the cold marble of the balustrade and used his tongue to coax her own release from her, his mouth somehow knowing by instinct — or maybe experience — just where to lick, where to suck, where to gently nibble.

When she’d finally stopped quivering and the world had stopped spinning wildly around her, he’d used his pocket square to gently clean her, kissed her hotly on the mouth, then bid her goodnight.

She never got his name; never even got to see his face under the mask he wore.

When her reverie ends, she has her hand between her thighs without even realising it. With a sharp gasp she slips it free and closes her legs.

All she can wonder, as she tries to turn her attention back to the TV show — and the brutal crime scene that becomes the focus of the episode — is what on earth put that night back into her head, after all these years.


	2. The Hunk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Letting my naturally-curly-haired Prompto HC shine through, fite me (ง'̀-'́)ง
> 
> Note: not every chapter in this fic will be explicit, similarly not every chapter will fit a kinktober prompt. Gotta get that plot in somewhere...

It’s something of a Saturday morning tradition for Prompto to stay in pajamas for as long as physically possible before even _attempting_ to start the day; call it a byproduct of being physically active for so much of the week, but it seems like sacrilege to get showered and dressed any time before noon if she can help it.

She’s happily channel-surfing with a bowl of Cheerios in her lap when she hears the key in the front door — and so it is that she meets Gladiolus Amicitia for the first time with her hair in a tangle of curls, wearing pineapple pizza jammies with the slogan _Match Made in Heaven_ emblazoned across the front.

It’s Iris who comes through first, of course, loudly asking if Prompto’s decent and hardly waiting for confirmation before barging in. She’s got garment bags piled high over one of her arms and all but dumps them on the couch beside Prompto with an exaggerated noise of exertion.

‘You want this anywhere in particular?’

It’s a low, gravelly voice that drifts into the room, and it makes Prompto’s ears prick up instantly.

Whenever Iris talks about her brother, Prompto always pictures somebody… well, like _her._ Bubbly, petite — _male,_ but very much like Iris. From the few pictures she’s seen of the two of them when they were younger, she’d gotten the impression Gladiolus was gangly and awkward, but the man standing in the doorway, holding a huge suitcase like it weighs nothing at all, is anything but lanky.

Where Iris is cute, pale and petite, he’s tall and broad and tanned. They both have the same dark hair, though, and he wears his long, tied out of the way into a ponytail with strands hanging loose in his face.

From her seat, Prompto gives an awkward, self-conscious little wave and tries to shrink down beneath the back of the couch out of view.

‘Hey,’ she says timidly.

Gladiolus gives a terse nod, then looks to Iris expectantly; a moment later she’s directing him toward her room.

‘I’m gonna go shower,’ Prompto whispers, hurriedly leaping to her feet. ‘Why didn’t you tell me he was… _y’know.’_

She makes a sweeping gesture and Iris grimaces, shooting a glance toward her bedroom door.

 _‘Gross,’_ she protests. ‘That’s my _brother.’_

Brother or not, Prompto still makes a dash for the bathroom post-haste, barely remembering to grab a towel along the way. While she showers, she can hear the bumping and scraping of furniture, along with the sounds of the siblings talking to one another. Their speech patterns, at least, are one element in which they hardly differ — they have the same little intonations and quirks, and when Iris makes some muffled joke and they both burst into laughter, the sounds mingle into one.

Given a little more time, Prompto would probably run a flat iron over her hair; as it is she leaves the implement untouched on the bathroom counter and heads for the door, making sure her towel is securely wrapped around her before leaving.

Iris and Gladiolus are by the front door when she emerges, debating over an oversized ornate that sits outside in the hallway. As if out of reflex, Gladiolus looks up just as Prompto is dashing the short distance from bathroom to bedroom — and even though the towel is fastened tight, and she’s sure that nothing’s on show, she still can’t help but feel his eyes on her as she scurries out of view and shuts the door behind her.

* * *

Once she’s dressed, her hair scraped into a knot behind her head with her bangs hanging wavy and loose, she ruefully emerges from her room. They’ve managed to get the mirror through the door in the time it took her to get ready, at least, and Iris is currently alone, sorting through boxes.

‘You gonna help out after all?’ Iris asks, glancing up as Prompto pads into the room. ‘It’d be done a _lot_ faster with an extra set of hands.’

Prompto meanders to the couch and plucks at the pile of garment bags draped over the arm of it. She spies a few dresses she recognises from their college days and wonders if Iris didn’t bring _everything_ she owns in her move to the city.

‘You said something about wine, right?’ Prompto says.

Iris grins and claps her hands together.

‘Yes!’ she exclaims. ‘There’s some furniture downstairs that Gladdy’s probably gonna need your help lifting. I’d do it but… I’m not all _buff_ like you.’

Prompto rolls her eyes. It might be meant to flatter, but nobody’s ever pointed out her thick thighs or strong arms as a good thing — at least not when it comes to her appearance.

‘Fine,’ she says, throwing her hands up. ‘But since there’s heavy lifting, I’m gonna need something fancy. No boxed shit, all right?’

The elevator’s occupied when she gets to it, so she heads down on foot and passes Gladiolus on the way up with a box labelled _Stuffed Animals_ in Iris’s ever-childish cursive. He does an awkward shuffle to get around her in the stairwell but she pauses, putting a hand out to stop him.

‘I should… probably officially introduce myself,’ she says. ‘I’m Prompto.’

‘Gladiolus.’

He reaches around the corner of the box and takes her hand, shaking it. His grip is about as firm as she’d expect it to be, and for just a moment she allows her glance to track up his wrist, along his arm, and up to his bicep where it looks like it wants desperately to burst through the sleeve of his t-shirt. A tattoo in stark black winds around both of his arms, just another reason to stare.

‘Cool ink,’ she says. ‘Must’ve hurt like a bitch.’

He shrugs.

‘Not as much as a car crash,’ he says, pointing to her wrist. ‘Iris told me ‘bout what happened.’

Prompto sighs and twists her arm to look at it. At this point, it _looks_ worse than it feels now that the swelling has finally begun to die down. She thinks it was probably just a sprain, but it had still been a nightmare to work with.

‘I’ve had worse,’ she retorts with a roll of her eyes.

He nods appraisingly. For just a beat, his eyes land on her lip where the cut is finally starting to heal.

‘I can look at you, f’you want.’

For a moment she just stares at him blankly, trying and failing over and over again to figure out what the _hell_ he means.

‘I’m an EMT,’ he says. ‘I can take a look, make sure everything’s okay.’

It finally clicks with her that she already knows this — that Iris has told her little bits and pieces about her big brother over the years, but none of them have seemed relevant until now. Probably because _until now,_ Prompto didn’t know he was hot.

‘Nah, it’s cool,’ she blurts, laughing self-consciously. ‘I don’t wanna waste your time.’

He shrugs again, his tee stretching over his broad shoulders.

‘Suit yourself.’

They stand there like that, effectively blocking the stairwell, until it occurs to Prompto that she has a bottle of wine waiting at the end of all this as incentive to get things rolling. She nods her head down the stairs and side-steps out of his way.

‘I’ll help you with the lifting,’ she says. ‘See you down there?’

She has to wait for him to come back and unlock the U-Haul — only an idiot would leave a moving truck open on the street in Insomnia. Once Gladiolus rolls the back up, she’s struck by the sheer volume of stuff her new roommate has brought along.

‘Iris knows it’s just the one room she’s getting, right?’ she says meekly, peering in at the assortment of boxes, furniture and junk. ‘I mean, I _guess_ she can have my room too, if she’s buying a better couch for me to sleep on…’

Gladiolus makes a soft _Tch_ of amusement. Prompto’s guess is he’s more than accustomed to his sister’s overeager ways.

‘Think she was just excited to finally move away from home for good,’ he says. ‘She cleared _everything_ out of her old room.’

Together, they work on lugging the few pieces of furniture toward the back of the truck, and Prompto helps Gladiolus lift a chest of drawers down onto the street. It seems a shame to put it in the dust and the grit when it’s all pretty and dainty, painted white with little flowers all over, but they don’t have much of a choice. Once it’s down, Prompto hops carefully to the ground and Gladiolus locks the truck up once more.

‘This thing isn’t gonna fit in the elevator, is it?’ Prompto says, as she and Gladiolus lug it toward the door of the building.

In front of her, Gladiolus gives a soft grunt as he angles it through the entryway.

‘Nope.’

Somehow — and it’s a big mystery that Prompto’s trembling muscles don’t just give in halfway through — they manage to get it up the winding stairwell, with frequent breaks along the way. Once they get it into the apartment Iris spends the next twenty minutes getting them to move it to different spots in her room until she _finally_ settles on something. Prompto has a feeling she’ll change her mind again before the day is out.

‘Okay,’ Prompto says, leaning against the doorframe to inspect their handiwork. They still have so much left to do. ‘After all of that, you owe me a _lot_ more than a bottle of wine.’

* * *

Iris, at least, is good for her word: at nine, with the apartment in simultaneous states of chaos and finally starting to look like Iris lives there, the three of them pile out of the building and hit the city streets in search of someplace to go.

They’re looking for something shitty and cheap, especially since Iris is getting the first few rounds in, and even though Prompto enjoys her drink she can’t say she’s much one for heading out. It’s always been cheaper to pick up a bottle from the liquor store and down it little by little in the comfort of her own home, away from drunk and sleazy guys trying to get into her pants at every turn.

‘This place looks… kind of okay,’ Iris says, as they roll up outside a bar with rock music piping out from within. ‘Better than the last one with the cowboy theme, right?’

Prompto shrugs. She’s in a black denim vest with a skull embroidered on the back and a pair of plaid pants, so she’ll probably fit in better here than any of the other spots they’ve passed.

‘I’m cool with it if you guys are,’ she says.

Gladiolus shrugs in agreement.

‘Booze is booze.’

It’s even louder inside, although they succeed in finding booth far enough from any speakers that Prompto doesn’t have to worry about her head splitting open over the course of the night. She sinks into her seat and flops against the back of it, inspecting the place as she does so — the owners have decorated the place with signed posters and records from various rock and metal bands, and there’s a sweet looking guitar with pride of place behind the bar.

‘Cranberry vodka?’ Iris asks, pointing to her.

Prompto nods.

Gladiolus orders _a whiskey,_ which in this place is likely whatever they happen to have in stock. Once Iris has sauntered off to the bar, Gladiolus stretches his arm out along the back of the cushioned seat behind him and blows out a sigh.

‘So, a paramedic, huh?’ Prompto says as she looks him over. ‘What’s that like?’

‘Exhausting,’ Gladiolus answers with a gruff laugh. ‘The hours change week to week, but at least you always know you’re helping somebody. Pretty thankless work, if I’m honest, but… that ain’t what really matters, right?’

Prompto nods thoughtfully. She’s never known anybody in any of the medical fields, but she imagines the hours are probably hellish. Injuries and illness don’t really take time off.

‘Do you ever have to go on-call?’ she asks.

He nods.

‘Uh huh. More often’n I’d like. Sometimes we get lucky and there’s volunteers to help pick up the slack, but mostly we’re understaffed and overworked.’

Prompto gives a sympathetic grimace.

‘The unsung heroes, huh?’ she murmurs.

‘Something like that,’ Gladiolus says, chuckling.

He drums his fingers idly on the leather of the booth seat, bringing his other hand up to smooth down his facial hair.

‘You’re a courier, right?’ he says.

‘Yeah,’ Prompto replies. She scratches at the nape of her neck where a few curls have come free from the elastic. ‘Wasn’t _exactly_ what I was planning on spending my life doing, but it pays the bills.’

‘What’d you study at college?’

Prompto sighs. She hopes, as she tentatively gives her answer, that he isn’t the type to hear that she went into humanities and judge her for not picking something more academic.

‘Photography,’ she says. ‘Kinda hoped I’d make something out of it, but you need serious talent to get anywhere in the field.’

Gladiolus shrugs, and there’s something in his expression — some sort of quiet interest — that makes her heart skip.

‘Maybe you can show me some of your work sometime,’ he says.

Prompto licks her lips and gives a timid little nod. Her stuff isn’t something she thinks a guy like him would be into — lots of abstracts, stark contrast, artsy shit.

‘Maybe,’ she murmurs.

Iris is still at the bar when Prompto glances over, getting chatty with the guy on the other side. Her bubbly demeanour is infectious, it seems, even in a dingy setting like this.

‘Hey,’ Gladiolus says. When Prompto looks up at him, he’s leaning towards her across the table. ‘You’ll look out for her, right? She ain’t used to living in the city all by herself.’

Prompto snorts. If Gladiolus thinks Iris needs _looking after,_ he’s obviously never seen her hold her own against a dude who won’t take no for an answer in a club. Still, she can understand the impulse to protect his younger sibling and she nods her head, flashing him a reassuring smile.

‘Of course,’ she says. ‘But you’ve got nothing to worry about. Iris is tough as nails.’

When the woman in question gets back with their drinks, she eyes them up as though she knows they’ve been discussing her. They act innocent, however, and Prompto casts a secret glance toward Gladiolus as Iris takes her seat.

There’s so much she doesn’t know about the guy, but the more she spends time with him, the more she thinks she likes him. He’s unassuming, not like so many of the cocky dudes she’s met over the years.

‘So, Gladiolus — you probably have a lot of embarrassing stories about Iris,’ Prompto says, shooting her friend a teasing smile. ‘Anything she _really_ wouldn’t want me to know?’

Iris gives Prompto a warning glance across the table.

‘Careful, Prompto,’ she says darkly. ‘I’ve got a few stories of my own that I could tell about _you.’_

Beside her, Gladiolus perks up with interest. His eyes — so much like Iris’s in shape and hue — widen as he looks between the two of them.

‘That so?’ he asks, his lips curling into a smirk. ‘Colour me intrigued.’

‘What do you think, Prom?’ Iris probes with a sly grin. ‘The absinthe story, or the one where you got locked out of the dorm room without clothes?’

Prompto groans and hides her face in her arms, at the precise moment moment Gladiolus gives a guffaw of laughter.

‘How about both?’ he says.

‘Guys,’ Prompto protests, her voice muffled in her arms, but it’s too late — Iris is already launching into the first tale.

‘So Prom’s a lightweight,’ Iris begins, patting Prompto sympathetically on the shoulder. ‘Not only that, but she gets these crazy ideas about calling up her old flames when she’s drunk. Give them a piece of her mind, you know?’

Prompto lifts her head to peer at her friend. She can’t believe Iris is _actually_ going ahead with this.

‘A bunch of us get our hands on a couple bottles of absinthe,’ Iris says, 'and Prompto’s drinking it like it’s soda.

‘About halfway through that first bottle _by herself,_ she decides she’s gonna dial up her old flame from high school. You know the deal — first love, _The One,_ popped her cherry and broke her heart.’

Gladiolus snorts. All Prompto can do is hide her face in her arms and give another long, laboured groan.

 _‘Anyway,’_ Iris says, 'she calls him and gets the voicemail, and she starts laying into him. Telling him about all this amazing sex she’s been having at college — totally an exaggeration — and how he was a shitty lay anyways. No detail left untold, she’s in our friend’s room loudly talking about all the times she faked it just to get him to stop. And then she hangs up, drinks some more, and passes out while the night is young.’

‘Ouch,’ Gladiolus says, and the second-hand embarrassment is rife in his voice. ‘Must’ve taken a while to live that one down.’

Prompto hears Iris giggle, and dread washes over her. The story isn’t done yet.

‘It gets worse,’ Iris says. ‘The next morning her phone is _blowing up._ Prom’s dying with a hangover and she sees she’s got, like, fifty missed calls from her dad — so of course she thinks something happened back home and she calls him right back.’

‘Shit,’ Gladiolus says.

Iris gives another conspiratorial giggle.

‘Yep,’ she replies. ‘Turns out instead of her ex, she dialled up her dad and left that long, awful voicemail on _his_ phone.’

The only thing louder than the Metallica song currently playing in the bar is the sudden burst of laughter that bubbles out of Gladiolus’s mouth — and it’s a rich, smoky-sweet sound that Prompto might even have enjoyed if it weren’t coming at her expense.

Dismayed, Prompto lifts her head and gives Iris a pleading look.

‘C’mon,’ she protests. ‘You had your fun.’

Gladiolus is in there, though, shaking his head hurriedly and poking Iris in the arm.

‘No way,’ he says. ‘You gotta tell me the other story now.’

For a minute, there’s a look of hesitation on Iris’s face — like she knows that once _this_ particular tale is out in the open, there’ll be no going back. Prompto begs with her eyes, and her heart lifts as she thinks Iris might actually show her some mercy.

Until she doesn’t.

‘All right,’ Iris says cheerily. ‘I’m away for spring break and she stays on campus, and she winds up hooking up with this guy — but after she steps out to take a shower, she can’t remember her way back to his room…’

There are more than a few embarrassing stories to be shared all-round, and Prompto gives as good as she gets. The only ones she leaves out about Iris are the ones that might _actually_ prompt her big brother to kill her, but there’s still quite a big repertoire of humiliation to be unleashed.

That’s not to say Gladiolus gets away scot-free, though; there’s stories about getting caught with girls by their dad, embarrassing locker room incidents, and even the start of a tale about a shaving foam that Prompto’s all ears for, but Gladiolus manages to cut Iris off with a warning glance before she gets very far into it.

Social humiliation aside, Prompto has to say it’s a good night, all things considered. It’s been too long since she and Iris actually went out together, and Gladiolus turns out to be a surprisingly good addition to their little posse. The similarities between the siblings come out all the more strongly as alcohol loosens their tongues, but they’re very different in their own ways, too.

They might happily have continued on until the small hours, but the bar’s closing up soon and — with a yawn — Gladiolus checks his watch only to utter a soft  _Damnit._

‘I should hit the road,’ he says, pushing himself to his feet.

Prompto pouts and — in a fit of self-confidence that must be entirely fueled by vodka — reaches out and grabs his wrist.

‘Stayyyy,’ she whines, giving him her best puppy dog eyes.

He chuckles, gently peeling her hand off of him.

‘Much as I’d love to,’ he says, ‘I gotta start sobering up. Gotta work tomorrow night.’

It’s a fair reason to bail, of course, but that doesn’t stop Prompto giving an exasperated sigh. As Gladiolus goes, he waves goodbye and shakes his head to himself with a grin.

He’s barely through the door when Iris shoots Prompto a look.

‘What?’ Prompto says innocently, draining the last of her drink. ‘What’s that for?’

Iris rolls her eyes.

‘Never mind,’ she says.

Prompto wonders on it for only a moment before the urge to pee becomes too strong to ignore; wobbling slightly, she pushes herself and heads for the restroom, her thoughts filled with Gladiolus’s warm smile as she goes.


	3. The Bachelor

Living with Iris again is an adjustment, but it seems like an easy one to make. Other than the sudden abundance of _things_ that now take up the formerly-empty corners of Prompto’s apartment, it almost feels like Iris has been there all along.

So Prompto’s old roommate was okay, even if she was a little uptight sometimes — but with Iris, it feels like having a sister again.

They don’t talk again about whatever it was that Iris had been about to say on Saturday night, and Prompto forgets about it entirely. That’s not to say she forgets about Gladiolus, of course; from time to time she allows herself to slip little questions about him into conversation with Iris, and if she’s fooling anybody in her attempts at subtlety, it’s probably herself.

Work should put Gladiolus out of her mind — or at least she hopes it will.

The depot is abuzz from the moment she gets in on Monday morning, and Aranea has her work cut out for her as she coordinates deliveries, arrivals and calls from the public.

‘Got an urgent one,’ Aranea says without so much as a hello. ‘Asked for _the blonde with the yellow bicycle_ so I’m gonna assume that’s you.’

She taps a button on her tablet as Prompto gears up in the reflective jacket that serves as a uniform, and her phone vibrates in response in her pocket as the details of the job come through.

Prompto barely has time to zip up and pull on her helmet before Aranea all but _pushes_ her out the door. In the sorting room of the depot, the other couriers seem to be in similar states of urgency.

Prompto fits her hands-free device as she climbs onto her bike, clipping it into place at her ear. When she gives the command, it relays an audio read-out of the address and asks if she wants directions.

‘No,’ she says, into the microphone.

The job’s at Chamberlain Publications; Prompto knows the location well. The vast, towering monstrosity is one of the best-known landmarks in Insomnia, home to the biggest publishing firm in all of Lucis.

She submits an ETA of twelve minutes and kicks off, pedalling her bike through the open rolling doors of the depot.

The crash last week did little to knock her confidence; with a job like this, the only thing to do after an accident is get back in the saddle, both figuratively and literally, or else wind up terrified of taking a risk ever again. It probably won’t be long before something knocks her on her ass again, but in the meantime she speeds through the streets with the freedom that only her bike can afford her.

She cuts through intersections, weaves between traffic, hops on the sidewalk whenever necessary. She makes it to Chamberlain Publications with three minutes to spare, plenty of time to check in at the front desk.

‘Got a package for me?’ she asks at reception, flashing her Wiz ID.

The man behind the desk shakes his head and points her to the elevators to the right of his workstation. Entry is barred by a number of electronic turnstiles; security in this place could rival the local police precinct.

‘He asked for you personally,’ the receptionist says, handing her a lanyard with the words VISITOR – _MODA._ ‘Sensitive documents. Eighteenth floor, hon — that’ll take you where you need to go. Just follow the signs for the editor.’

Prompto’s a little bemused, but she waves the lanyard at the turnstiles and with a merry chiming sound, one of them pops open to let her through.

All of this screwing around — getting sent to retrieve the package herself, instead of their internal mailing sorting it — is just a waste of time. The beep at her ear tells her she already has another job queued up, and those three minutes she shaved off her journey are about to be squandered as she runs around after some self-important jackass.

The elevator, at least, is quick enough as it silently glides up through the floors. It stops partway to let some people on, but they all get off again before her.

Once on her floor, she inspects the directions labelled on the wall just outside the elevator and finds the sign directing her to the editing department. She barely dodges out of the way of bustling employees and interns as she makes her way through the floor, and as she passes a lounge area she catches a glimpse of somebody insanely attractive that she thinks might be the guy from the Armani billboards around the city.

She’s in no mood for further delays once she finally gets to her destination; the secretary’s desk outside the editor’s office is empty but the door is open, so she wastes no time in barging in.

‘You have a package—’

She cuts off short; the man behind the desk seems unflustered where he sits poring over something in front of him, and when he glances up and meets her eye she realises he’s the same guy in the suit who caused her to wipe out on her bike the other day.

‘—for me,’ she finishes weakly.

He’s about as handsome as she remembers, although he’s at least twice as intimidating in place behind his shiny, polished desk of glass and chrome. He glances appraisingly at her over the frames of his glasses, and she has the sudden urge to take off her helmet and make herself presentable.

‘Ah, yes,’ he says briskly, rising to his feet.

He picks up a manilla envelope and walks around the desk to her; somehow, he seems even taller here in the context of his office, the cut of his suit setting off his angular shoulders.

‘Apologies for giving you the runaround,’ he says. ‘Publishing is a bit of a… cutthroat industry. Can’t have things falling into the wrong hands.’

Prompto knows she should be on her way if she wants to keep on schedule, but there’s something about the guy — something that makes her hang on his every word in that delicious accent of his. All irritation over being sent hoofing about the place is gone now, replaced with curiosity.

‘What tells you you can trust me?’ she counters slyly. ‘Who says I won’t open this up and hand it straight to your competitors?’

So she wouldn’t, and he can probably tell as much, but she wouldn’t be surprised if it hasn’t happened before. Courier work only pays as well as the client; sometimes, there’s probably somebody who wants a package just a little more than its intended recipient.

‘Call it a hunch,’ the man says, smiling.

She takes a glance at the delivery details on the envelope — slapped over with a big fat CONFIDENTIAL in red lettering — and nods to herself. The destination isn’t too far, at least. She should be able to make up for lost time.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says as she turns for the door. ‘I’ll admit I had ulterior motives in asking you here personally. I wanted to make sure you were all right after our… collision, the other day.’

She shrugs, a little taken aback. She’s surprised he even remembers her — how many strangers’ faces must he see in a day, working where he does?

‘Yeah,’ she says. ‘Yeah, I’m cool. No impending lawsuits — promise.’

He laughs delicately, and the sound of it prickles at the back of her neck.

‘Well, that’s a relief,’ he replies. ‘If anything comes up, you know where to find me.’

Prompto nods. She doesn’t point out the unlikelihood of taking on the editor of a fashion magazine in personal injury court; she’s sure he knows.

Out of habit, she pulls the door shut on the way out. Etched into the frosted glass are the words _Editor-in-Chief – MODA: Ignis Scientia._

* * *

She’s still a little rattled by the whole encounter once the day rolls to a close and she wheels her bike into the depot for the last time. It’s not every day that somebody like her winds up in the editor’s office of a prestigious fashion imprint, especially not asked there _personally._

It’s an oddity in an otherwise uneventful day, however, although she’s no less pleased when she gets home and Iris has a bottle of wine waiting for her.

‘To make up for Saturday night,’ her roommate says ruefully, handing it over as a peace offering.

They share the bottle, each taking a generous glass at a time. They both have work in the morning, but that’s never stopped them before.

‘Got a weird job today,’ Prompto says, swirling the wine around in her glass. The red laps up around the bowl of it, leaving a faint tinge behind. ‘The guy who hit me with the car door last week. Turns out he’s, like, some hotshot in the publishing industry.’

It’s almost comical how wide Iris’s eyes go. She’s been a follower of fashion since before they first met, so it’s no surprise that this would pique her curiosity.

‘Really?’ she replies. ‘Who was it?’

‘Somebody from _Moda,’_ she says. ‘Ignis something?’

Iris damn near knocks her glass over in her excitement, shooting upright in her seat and slapping her hands down on the breakfast bar where they sit.

‘Scientia?’ she blurts. ‘Ignis Scientia?’

Prompto shrugs. She’d never heard the name before today — not that that means a whole lot when she knows next to nothing about fashion. One need only look in her wardrobe to state the obvious: she spends about as much time shopping for clothes as she does scoping out current trends, which is to say _not a whole lot._

‘Is he somebody special?’ she asks absently, looking down into her glass.

‘Uh, yeah?’ Iris says. _‘Moda_ was pretty much dead in the water until he took over. Shook it up, hired a bunch of new faces, signed a massive supermodel for his first cover. He’s, like, fashion _royalty.’_

Prompto takes Iris’s word for it. She barely knows her Naomi from her Kate — or whether either of them are even still modelling any more.

For a while, Iris rambles about _Moda_ and some of its more memorable issues, from facilitating the comeback of some massive model from the early 2000s, to being the ones to snag an exclusive interview with a disgraced designer after his period of seclusion. Prompto feigns interest as best she can, although her mind soon starts wandering.

When her phone makes a little notification sound where it sits on the pocket, she’s all too quick to pick it up. It’s a friend request on Facebook — one Gladiolus Amicitia.

Heat spreads across Prompto’s cheeks like wildfire.

‘What?’ Iris says. ‘What is it?’

Prompto shakes her head hurriedly and clutches the phone to her chest.

‘Nothing,’ she says. ‘Just got tagged in a comment.’

* * *

Prompto debates only for a little while about accepting the friend request. She wouldn’t dream of adding Gladiolus on her own steam, of course, but she’s not about to decline _him._ Chances are he’s one of those people who just adds everybody they meet, but still — there’s no harm in adding him back, right?

She hits _accept_ while sprawled out on her bed that night, some crappy teen supernatural drama playing on her tablet on Netflix in the background. She does the prerequisite snooping for a little while, checking out his profile pictures and his wall, before dropping her phone beside her on the bed and turning her attention back to the episode.

It’s not all that long before a soft _bloop_ draws her back to her phone; the chat screen pops up with Gladiolus’s profile picture attached, and Prompto’s stomach does a weird flip.

_\- up to much?_

Prompto can’t help it — she snorts. It’s the classic fuckboy _WYD?_ message and she’s almost disappointed that Gladiolus would stoop so low.

 _\- watching netflix and drinking the last of my wine_  
_\- i want more wine :(_  
_\- you?_

 _\- i’d bring you some if i had any. kinda a spirits only deal over here._  
_\- recovering after a long fucking day. i’m on call._

 _\- yikes, can’t say that sounds like fun_  
_\- do you get time off after?_

_\- 2 days. kinda too beat to do anything after most of the time._

Prompto sits up, stretching across to her bedside table to grab her wine glass. There really isn’t nearly enough left for her liking; if she didn’t have work in the morning, she’d probably head down to grab some more.

 _\- hey listen, i don’t know if this is your thing but there’s this club i go to sometimes. rock music. cheap drinks. wannabe goths._  
_\- i go there sometimes since i know the dj. figured it might be up your alley._

Prompto freezes, her wine glass partway to her lips. She had joked to herself that Gladiolus came in with the archetypal fuckboy intro, but now that she’s reading his messages — now that, if she dares believe it, he seems to be actually _asking her out_ — she’s not sure what to think.

Maybe she’s reading too much into it. Maybe he’s just being nice. Or maybe…

She chews her lip and types up a reply; it sounds a little too terse, so she tries for something flirtier. That, however, winds up sounding desperate, so she scraps it and starts afresh.

_\- you calling me a wannabe goth, amicitia?_

_\- if the shoe fits…_  
_\- kidding_  
_\- if you wanna check it out, my friend’s playing friday night so the music’s gonna be good._

Prompto hits pause on Netflix and rests her chin against her free arm, forehead pressed to the bowl of her wine glass. If he _is_ asking her out on a date, she’s pretty sure Iris will kill her — but maybe he’s not, and she’s just getting ahead of herself. Either way, it’s not like she gets much of a chance to get out these days, and Gladiolus seems… well, _nice._ Nicer than anybody of the male persuasion that she’s had the opportunity to run into these days.

_\- screw it, could be fun_

_\- awesome. doors open at 9 but nobody really shows til 10._  
_\- oh and dress to impress. if that’s your thing._

They wrap up their conversation after he sends her a link to the venue; from what Prompto can tell, _dress to impress_ means isn’t to be taken lightly. The whole club seems to have a fetish theme, with lots of shots of the crowd in an assortment of leather, studs and fishnets — definitely not the sort of place you show up to in jeans and a tee.

As Prompto says goodnight, she bites her lip thoughtfully. She probably has something in her closet that fits the bill; either way, she’s more than happy to rise to the challenge.


	4. The Club

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Kinktober Day 6 — _Corset/Biting_**
> 
>  
> 
> [This](https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=RkT-aMgZvQI) is the Nine Inch Nails song that plays in the club during this chapter. Maybe not the sexiest _lyrically_ , but thematically _yes._

In the back of her Uber, trying in vain to tune out the dance music blasting on the radio, Prompto tugs for the millionth time at her clothing to try to get it to sit straight.

The corset had been Iris’s idea, and while it had seemed like a good one at the time — nothing says fetish like crushed ribs and plunging cleavage — Prompto’s starting to regret that the fear of a boob popping out may just outweigh the benefits of it.

Iris had been all too happy to help pick out something for her to wear, coordinating everything down to which panties would work best, should the occasion for them to be seen arise, but Prompto had just about managed to keep from blurting exactly  _ who _ it was that she had been going to see. Friendly meetup or not, she has a feeling Iris would have a thing or two to say about Prompto going to a fetish-themed club with her brother.

With Prompto’s corset straightened out, she turns her attention to the hem of her skirt, pulling it down her thighs. It’s not technically  _ goth _ — it’s some ridiculous confection of black velvet and tulle that somehow miraculously still fits from high school — but with the black and purple corset, fishnet suspenders and stompy black boots, she thinks it’s passable.

Once she’s all settled up, she hops out of the car — careful not to  _ pop _ out, of course — and scans the already vast line of clubgoers waiting to get in.

Her heart sinks; maybe she  _ should _ have come early to get through the doors. When she looks farther up the line, however, she spots Gladiolus chatting with the bouncer as he flags people through, and makes a beeline for him.

‘Hey,’ Gladiolus says, waving her over. ‘Figured you wouldn’t wanna spend all night waiting on line.’

He hasn’t gone quite all out like she has, but he still looks great in a black tank with a skull on it and dark jeans that hug tightly to his muscular thighs. He has his hair partly pulled back from his face, the lower half of it hanging down his neck.

He flashes his hand, on the back of which is an elaborate bat-shaped stamp in iridescent ink; when Prompto steps up, the bouncer presses a matching stamp to her hand and lets them both through.

Whatever noise-cancelling efforts the club employs, they seem to work: after the initial entry, there’s another set of doors, beyond which they’re assailed by a wall of sound. Prompto can see the dance floor at the end of a long corridor, but Gladiolus directs her to a staircase leading off to the side.

‘Bar’s upstairs,’ he says, leaning in close to be heard. ‘Little easier to talk up there.’

He’s right — the sound level is a little less oppressive on the upper floor, with all the speakers angled down towards the dance floor at the centre of which is the DJ’s station. This area is railed off, affording a bird’s eye view of the grind of bodies below, a sea of writhing black.

‘What’re you drinking?’ Gladiolus asks, tapping Prompto’s arm to get her attention.

‘I’m feeling something fruity,’ she says, with a grin. ‘Get me something colourful to break up all the black.’

He throws a thumbs-up by way of understanding and heads off to the bar, leaving her to watch the crowd — and it’s surprisingly fun to do, given that it’s nothing like any crowd she’s ever seen in a club. Everybody seems to be swaying to their own rhythm, almost independent of the music, and yet somehow it all coordinates like the limbs of some dark, many-limbed creature.

There are the ones bouncing around to the music, mostly in larger groups; the ones moving in slow-motion, writhing and twisting as they go; the less flamboyant ones bobbing along to the beat. Dotted amongst the dancers, there are people making their own music: couples locked in intimate embraces, pressed close as though they were the only ones in the world.

A hand touches Prompto’s waist; she shivers involuntarily and twists into the touch, finding herself looking up into Gladiolus’s dark eyes.

For a moment, he seems just as arrested as she is, his hand still sitting in the curve of her hip. He swallows, then, and lifts his hand where he’s managed to artfully balance both their drinks. The one he’s picked out for her, she finds, is satisfactorily bright and cheerful — a two-layered concoction with bright green on top and cherry red on the bottom.

‘Thanks,’ she says, immediately taking a drink from it once it’s in her grasp. It’s sweet and a little sour, and if she’s not careful she’ll go through it like it’s water.

They stand close by one another, nodding absently along to the music. Prompto tries to think of something to say, even just a comment about the music to break up the silence, but everything she can come up with seems woefully lame. Absently, she fidgets with the strap of the little purse she wears across her.

He moves closer to her, leaning in toward her ear; the smell of soap and aftershave and something implacably  _ manly _ fills her nose, and his hair, soft and dark, brushes against her bare shoulder.

‘You look amazing,’ he says. ‘Showing me up on my own turf here.’

Prompto almost chokes on her drink. After a moment where she fights not to sputter into it, she swallows, blots at the liquid at the corner of her mouth, and stretches close to his ear to give her response.

‘Give yourself a little credit,’ she replies. ‘You clean up nice, too.’

When he chuckles softly, the sound of it trickles down into her belly and warms her inside-out. She finds her eyes straying to his lips and wonders, idly, what it would feel like to kiss them.

Her cheeks pooling with heat, she pulls away and turns once more toward the railing, leaning her weight on it.

‘We can go down, f’you want,’ Gladiolus says. ‘Got any requests?’

Prompto wets her lips as she thinks. Whatever’s playing right now — some dance-infused industrial song overlaced with incoherent German lyrics — is loud and heavy, but it’s not so bad.

‘Maybe in a little while,’ she says with a glance toward him over her shoulder. ‘I think I need a little more alcohol in me before I brave that crowd.’

There’s a soft snort of agreement from Gladiolus. It’s hard to believe he has any trouble blending in in this place, though, when he seems to sink into it like a second skin.

He’s close again, his elbow touching hers as he rests against the rail beside her. Even that warmth is enough to make her heart leap.

So yeah, it’s been a while since she hooked up with anybody. Even longer since she had a meaningful relationship that didn’t involve something battery-operated. She’s known Gladiolus only a little while, having met him a couple times and shared a handful of messages each day this week, and that she’s even getting flustered around him is probably more of a testament to her desperate need to get laid than anything else.

Plus he’s Iris’s big brother, which makes him off-limits… Right?

So why —  _ why _ — does she shift just a little closer? Why does she choose now to push her hand through her hair, sweeping it off her neck?

Why does it fill her with such a feeling of profound satisfaction when, out of the corner of her eye, she catches him watching?

‘I never understood those things,’ Gladiolus says, his tone almost conversational as he gestures towards the corset Prompto squeezed into for the night. ‘Can you even breathe in it?’

Prompto shrugs in a bid to act casual. It’s not done up quite as tightly as somebody more dedicated might have had it, but it still presses in around her ribs. She’s barely been in it an hour and she’s already anticipating peeling out of it and flinging it  _ far away. _

‘You said it yourself, though,’ she says lightly. ‘I look amazing.’

She splits into a grin; he meets it with a laugh.

‘You got me there,’ he admits, shrugging his broad shoulders as he takes a sip of his drink — whiskey again, from the looks of it. ‘I think you’d look pretty incredible out of it, too.’

It’s a good thing she’s not presently taking a sip of her own drink or she might choke  _ for real _ this time. As it is, she turns and looks at him, wide-eyed, not quite sure whether she should take what he said at face-value or not.

Maybe it’s the weird lighting in the place — in turns purple and blue, flickering about in such a way that it casts long shadows across the walls and floor — but she thinks his cheeks are a little dark, almost as though he’s flushed.

‘I’m gonna go dance,’ he says suddenly. He stops and downs his drink in a couple gulps, his adam’s apple bobbing as he goes; when he’s done, he sets the glass down on a nearby table and gives Prompto a meaningful look. ‘You’re more than welcome to join, unless you’d prefer to keep people-watching.’

He leaves without waiting for an answer, his hips swinging slightly as he goes. For a minute, all Prompto can do is stare after him until her legs seem to remember how they work and she totters along, stopping only to drain her drink and set it aside as he had.

The dance floor is a squeeze after the relative freedom of the upper level, and if it weren’t for Gladiolus keeping his pace slow, Prompto might lose him entirely. He checks back over his shoulder only once to make sure she’s there, but at least the crowd seems to part a little more readily around him than they would when met with her diminutive frame.

A song by Rob Zombie comes on — something Prompto thinks she remembers from  _ The Matrix _ — and the place goes wild. It’s difficult not to get knocked about by thrashing bodies, but Gladiolus is soon there gripping her by the hand, his touch strong and reassuring.

‘Stay close,’ he says, and she can barely hear him over the noise even though he gets right up by her ear.

They get through the song — barely — and something a little mellower comes on, allowing them to dance in peace. For Prompto, that involves self-consciously bopping her head in time to the music, although Gladiolus seems to have no hang-ups as he moves, proving himself to be quite the dancer. Prompto can’t help but grin and, when he takes her by the hand, happily joins in.

Where she falters, he guides her; soon he’s pulling her close and using his body to direct hers. He’s a patient tutor, and even though Prompto can’t quite muffle the little voice in her head telling her that she looks like a jackass, he gives no indication that he thinks the same.

‘I’ll take you to meet the DJ,’ he says, after the next song begins. ‘Why don’t you request something?’

They don’t have far to go, and Gladiolus takes her by the hand all the way. At the station, he leans across the deck toward the woman behind it and she lifts her massive headphones off, greeting him animatedly.

‘Prompto, this is Crowe,’ Gladiolus yells, gesturing her closer.

It doesn’t seem like a handshake situation, so Prompto waves awkwardly while the woman nods and smiles.

‘Good to meet you,’ Crowe says. ‘Gladio says you got a request?’

Just briefly, Prompto’s stumped. She’s been listening to a random rotation on Spotify with no particular theme, none of which seems appropriate for the venue. She tries to think back to her college days before her music taste broadened out a little. Back then it had been all pretentiously heavy stuff, typically blared at an uncomfortable volume.

‘Got any Nine Inch Nails?’ she ventures.

Crowe nods.

‘Old school or midlife crisis?’

They exchange glances — the meaning of the look seems to be lost on Gladiolus — and for a moment Prompto feels a rare sort of affinity for this stranger she’s known for less than a minute.

‘Is that even a question?’ Prompto scoffs.

‘I like this one already,’ Crowe shouts to Gladiolus; soon she’s twisting around and returning to her task, her headphones securely back in place.

They stake out a spot on the floor with a little more room to manoeuvre and move in time to the music. It’s hard from Prompto to even hear herself think, so talking is out of the question, but at least the music is decent enough. She realises she could probably have specified a song to Crowe for her request, but anything from the older catalogue is bound to be good.

It’s hot and humid in the place, made only worse by the crush of bodies. Prompto can feel sweat trickling down her neck, down into her cleavage, and there’s a sheen on Gladiolus’s skin as she looks up at him.

He flashes a grin when their eyes meet; ducks down low and gets right up close to her ear.

‘Iris know you’re here with me?’ he asks.

Is there a little bit of a teasing tone in his voice? It’s hard to be sure.

Prompto shakes her head and hears him chuckle. Feels the warmth of his breath against her shoulder and for a second, just a second, can’t quite seem to move her mouth into the shape of words.

Gladiolus fills the pause: ‘Why not?’

Prompto swallows hard and tries to play it casual, poking him in the shoulder.

‘You tell me you’re not a  _ little _ afraid of her,’ she counters. ‘She might be tiny but she packs a punch.’

There’s more laughter from Gladiolus, raucous this time, and the sound of it is infectious enough that Prompto splits into a grin. She wants to keep hearing it — wants to keep making him laugh in that belly-deep way of his.

For now, she settles for dancing with him, and if he lets the swell of the crowd nudge him a little closer to her, she doesn’t argue.

When the next song comes on, she recognises it with a rush. With the bass turned all the way up, she feels it rising up in her chest along with the thrill of hearing a song she hasn’t listened to in years. It’s from  _ The Downward Spiral, _ one of her favourite Nine Inch Nails albums — and easily one of the sexier tracks, layered over with pounding drums and relentless synths.

She gives a little whoop of excitement and, on a whim, grips the front of Gladiolus’s tank to tug him over.

‘I’m guessin’ this is your song?’ Gladiolus says with a quirked eyebrow.

‘Yup,’ Prompto replies. ‘Now shut up and dance with me.’

He gives her a curl of his lips by way of response, but he does as he’s told. Soon they settle into a rhythm together and it’s easy for Prompto to forget her self-consciousness as something a little more primal takes over. Soon she’s not just dancing  _ with _ him, she’s dancing  _ into _ him, and she feels the heavy weight of his hands move to her hips as he matches her pace.

It’s… incredibly hot, and Prompto lets the heat of the moment take over as she twists in Gladiolus’s grasp until her back is up against him, the better to fit into the curve of his hips.

His hands meet the sliver of bare flesh between corset and skirt; she feels his fingertips dig a little into her flesh and even though she’s sweaty and hot and probably red in the face, she lets the contact urge her on.

She pushes back into his hips — maybe it’s the club, bewitching her — and after a moment she feels his lips brush against her earlobe, his breath rugged in her ear.

‘You really do look incredible,’ Gladiolus says. ‘That corset… dancing like that.’

He gives her hips a squeeze, pulls her flush against him. She’d care more about the little show they’re putting on if there weren’t already a dozen other couples doing precisely the same thing, with even less restraint.

Prompto lets it all wash over her — the feel of Gladiolus so close, his heat, the lyrics pounding into her head.

_ Maybe it's a part of me you took to a place I hoped it would never go…  _ _  
_ _ And maybe that fucked me up so much more than you'll ever know…  _

She can feel Gladiolus’s hand smoothing down her thigh; feel the warmth of it even through the layers of velvet and tulle. As the music slows down, distorted guitars filling in where the lyrics left off, she feels her heart hammering within her ribs.

It’s like none of this is real: the multitudes of people, the lights strobing around them, the feel of Gladiolus practically melting into her.

She moves her hand to cover his, and for just a beat she feels him tense — figures he’s worried she wants him to stop — but then she guides his hand down, down to the hem of her skirt and up beneath it.

Prompto can barely hear the music even as it picks up again for the gushing of her pulse in her ears, and just when she thinks she can’t take any more she feels the rough brush of Gladiolus’s calloused fingertips smoothing up her inner thigh. He’s hiking her skirt up, his fingers trailing ever upwards, and she doesn’t even care that everybody could see if they cared to look.

‘This okay?’ he asks, his mouth hot against her earlobe.

There’s a lull between songs as the next one comes on — he doesn’t have to shout to be heard, his voice a low rumble at her ear. She gives a hurried nod, and his fingers make circles on her skin, slow and teasing, his lips laying kisses on her earlobe, on her neck.

In front of them, two girls dance; the closet one’s got her back to Prompto but she can clearly see the face of the other, eyes screwed shut and face tilted upwards in ecstasy as her partner grinds against her.

The next song is Rammstein, she thinks: something heavy and German, anyway, but it’s a fleeting thought as Gladiolus’s touch sends a pang of pleasure through her.

She turns then, around to face him, and even though it pains her to dislodge his hand from between her legs she does it anyway and stretches up on the tips of her toes, her mouth finding his. His kisses match hers in hunger, in heat, and as she slips her arms around his neck, she tangles her fingers through his hair, pulling him closer.

He tastes like whiskey, sharp and sour; his breath huffs out against her lips as they part from his with a wet sound.

‘I want another drink,’ she says elusively, smirking up at him. 

She steps around him, and maybe she lets her hips sway just a  _ little _ as she walks with the intent to give him a view. She’s trembling — badly — with need, but she hopes she doesn’t let it show.

She’s out in the corridor, between incongruously white and sterile walls, when she hears his footsteps behind her. They’re alone here, and the music isn’t quite so loud, and when she feels Gladiolus fall into step behind her she turns and slings and arm around his neck, stretching up and kissing him hard, pushing her hips against his.

He has her against the wall in a heartbeat, his hand going between her thighs again. Maybe with a little more alcohol threading through Prompto’s veins, she’d let him lift her up and fuck her against the wall, right in view of anybody who might decide to walk by.

She puts her hands flat on his chest and pushes; he stops immediately.

‘That drink,’ she reminds him, and she gives a teasing little laugh that has him shaking his head wryly in answer.

Somehow they make it upstairs; somehow they get through ordering their drinks and finding their old spot by the rail without tearing each other’s clothes off. Once overlooking the dance floor, Prompto feels Gladiolus step up close behind her, a hand fitting comfortably in the small of her back.

‘So, I’ve been thinkin’,’ he says, almost conversationally. ‘You must’ve gone to all that trouble to tie that corset up. How much work would it take to get it open?’

Prompto giggles and twists to look at him over her shoulder — the look in his eyes says he’s only half-joking.

‘Maybe I’ll help you find out,’ she says.  _ ‘Someday.’ _

‘Someday?’

Prompto nods, and she feels a little pang of satisfaction at the look of disappointment she sees on his face just before she turns away and takes a sip from her drink. She knows she could go home with him, and she can have all the fun in the world imagining how that might play out, but teasing sound  _ so _ much better.

‘Someday,’ she echoes, lifting her voice to be heard. ‘If you’re good.’

She’s not a bit surprised when he moves closer and his mouth moves to her neck; even less so when she hears the teasing tone in his voice.

‘And if I’m not?’ he coaxes.

His teeth nip into her neck gently at first, moving downward. When he gets to her shoulder his bites turn a little rougher, a little painful, but it’s a good kind of pain that makes her tip her head back and huff out an involuntary sigh.

‘I don’t think you’re being very good right now,’ she says, breathless, and he chuckles into her shoulder.

‘I’ll make it up to you, then,’ he says. He kisses his way back across her shoulder and up her neck, gentle now, until he gets to her ear. ‘Dinner tomorrow. There’s an incredible Thai restaurant by my place.’

Prompto appraises the offer, licking her lips as she takes the time to think. Dating 101 probably says something about playing hard-to-get, about brushing him off to keep him wanting, but she’s never been too good at following rules.

‘By your place?’ she counters. ‘Convenient, huh?’

He laughs — that feeling pulls in her stomach again, in response to the sound — and his arm wraps around her waist.

‘I’ll be a gentleman,’ he says. ‘I promise.’

There’s a little part of her that doesn’t  _ want _ Gladiolus to be a gentleman, and it’s that same part that took over on the dance floor and in the hallway downstairs, that would quite willingly drag him to the restroom even now if it meant she could get him alone for five minutes.

She takes a sip to buy herself a moment and pretends to consider his offer, as if her mind isn’t already made up.

Once she’s sure she’s left him hanging long enough, she turns to face him and leans back against the railing, the metal cool where it presses into her through the ties of her corset.

‘All right,’ she says. ‘You’re on.’


	5. The Invitation

If Prompto were trying to get Gladiolus out of her head, she’s pretty sure it’d be an insurmountable task. She’s not, though, which means that when she finds her thoughts drifting back to him again and again, she’s hardly complaining.

Dinner on Saturday had been surprisingly civilised, and when he’d invited her back to his place after — which she’d known he would — she had made her excuses and said her goodbyes with a chaste kiss on the lips.

On Sunday night, lying very much alone in a very much empty bed, she’d fought the temptation to send him a text to ask what he was doing.

Given that it was after midnight,  _ sleeping _ would have been the obvious answer — not the one she’d be hoping for, though.

Work, for perhaps the first time in her entire time with Wiz Couriers, is painfully tedious. She feels like she’s waiting for the day to end from the moment she pulls on her helmet, and even with the usual Monday rush to keep her occupied, she finds herself checking the time so often it feels like it’s actually moving backwards.

She grabs a coffee and a pastry for lunch; devours it with her bike leaning against her hip while she scrolls through Facebook — multitasking at its finest.

There are no messages from Gladiolus today, although he’s tagged her in the comments of some dorky video about puppies. She’s a little rusty at this whole courtship deal, but she’s pretty sure that’s a good sign, so she leaves a heart on the comment for good measure.

Her head’s still pretty much on cloud nine when she goes back to work, and she’s so lost in her thoughts that she doesn’t notice her phone’s GPS leading her to a familiar towering edifice. Even once she’s inside, staring up at the reception desk where the words  _ Chamberlain Publications _ hang overhead, it doesn’t ring a bell.

Not until the editor-in-chief of  _ Moda _ steps out to greet her in person, anyway.

‘I hoped it might be you,’ he says, and he’s got another mysterious manilla envelope in his hands, this one a little thicker than the last.

Prompto shrugs. This time, she unclips her helmet — she’ll probably be here awhile if it’s anything like her last visit.

‘Checking up on me again?’ she asks. ‘I promise, I’m good as new.’

The cut’s long gone from her lip, her wrist no longer tender. Suddenly she’s a little self-conscious of the fresh trail of bruises still running like breadcrumbs across her shoulder, but when she reflexively lifts her hand to check them, her tee seems to cover any evidence of Friday night’s fun.

‘Actually,’ Ignis says, drumming his fingers matter-of-factly against the surface of his envelope. ‘I had a more social purpose in mind, should I happen to run into you again.’

Prompto meets his glance with a raised eyebrow. He has her interest, anyway.

‘Coffee,’ he says. ‘My treat. I’m certain you must be busy in your line of work, but surely we can… align our schedules in a manner that suits us both.’

_ Align our schedules?  _ she thinks.  _ He’s seriously overestimating my social life. _

Making out with her roommate’s brother in a club on Friday night, and now the hotshot editor of some fashion magazine is asking her out for coffee? Prompto wonders if maybe she didn’t wind up with a concussion from her accident after all, and dream all of this up.

She must be taking too long to reply, because she sees Ignis’s face fall just slightly before he affixes a more professional veneer in place.

‘Of course, I understand that it wouldn’t be appropriate,’ he says briskly. Promptly, he hands over the envelope.

‘No, I mean,’ Prompto blurts, shaking her head hurriedly. ‘I’m just a little spaced. Been a long day.’

‘Of course,’ he says. His relief is subtle, but palpable; his shoulders seem to untense just slightly beneath the dark fabric of his shirt. ‘Well, I’ll give you my number then — if that’s all right. Leave it up to you.’

Prompto smiles and nods. Truth is, she really  _ is _ a little dazed over the whole thing, but she finds herself pulling her phone from her pocket anyway to let him enter his number in.

‘Wonderful,’ he announces, as he hands the phone back, this time with the envelope. ‘And, ah. I don’t believe I ever got your name.’

‘Prompto,’ she supplies.

He nods as though committing the name to memory.

‘Ignis,’ he says.

‘I know,’ she says. ‘Big old sign on your office door, remember? Kinda hard to miss.’

She thinks she sees his cheeks flush just slightly, and for an instant the unflappable magazine mogul is decidedly  _ flapped. _ It makes it all the more unbelievable, somehow, that he’d show any interest in Prompto.

She doesn’t know the first thing about fashion, for starters — and she’s probably rocking some epic helmet-hair.

‘Of course,’ he says briskly, brushing it off with all the aplomb she’d expect of him. ‘Well, do consider giving me a call. I’d love to hear from you.’

Prompto tucks her phone away with a nod. Once he’s gone, she slips the envelope securely into her backpack and makes sure it’s zipped in before heading off once more.

Outside, she stands in the shadow of the building and — on a whim — grabs her phone to check the number Ignis inputted for her. She wonders how many people — men and women, young and old — would kill to have access to her contacts right now. Too bad she’ll never give him a call; he seems like he could be nice.

* * *

‘So are you gonna tell me about this mystery guy, or do I need to torture it out of you?’

It was only a matter of time, really, before the subject came up with Iris in earnest — Prompto just hoped she’d have a chance to plot out the inevitable conversation.

‘What guy?’ she asks, exuding innocence as she slips her phone into her pocket.

Iris gives Prompto a look that says she isn’t kidding anybody. She teaches little kids for a living; Prompto wonders how many times that particular look gets use in a day.

‘Either there’s a  _ guy,’ _ Iris says knowingly, ‘or you’re smiling at cat pictures. And you would’ve shown me already if it was a cat, ergo it’s a guy.’

Guilt washes over Prompto. So technically she and Gladio aren’t really  _ a thing _ yet, but they had a great time at dinner and they’ve been trading flirtatious — and borderline salacious — text messages for days now. The darkened screen of her phone, where moments earlier Gladiolus’s latest message had been displayed, seems to burn through her jeans and into her leg.

Prompto gives a shrug and turns her attention to her pasta.

‘It’s not anything serious,’ she says evasively. ‘Just… texting, is all.’

She’s ninety percent sure that if she glanced up now, Iris would be giving her  _ that look _ again; she does her best to stubbornly keep her eyes on her food as she shovels another mouthful in.

‘Soooo,’ Iris prompts. ‘What’s he like? I haven’t seen you smile like that since Ben & Jerry’s went on buy-one-get-one.’

Maybe now’s the time — before things get serious. Maybe it’ll be easier to break it to her that Prompto’s sort-of seeing her brother before any actual naked time has happened.

Yet when Prompto plays out the conversation in her head, she can’t help worrying that she’ll turn things sour with Iris when they’ve only been living together a short while. Iris is cool — and the only college friend Prompto clicked enough with to keep in touch with — and even if she has a hotheaded streak, she’s pretty fair.

Still, though. Gladio’s her  _ brother. _

‘Y’know,’ Prompto says, perking up. ‘I forgot to tell you about that editor dude.’

There’s enough of a glint of curiosity in Iris’s eye that it seems she’s distracted — for now.

‘Ignis Scientia?’

Prompto nods.

‘He had another package for me today,’ she says. ‘Gave it to me in person. And then, uh… he gave me his number.’

Years of navigating through dense traffic and roadworks all while cycling at breakneck speed have honed Prompto’s reflexes — even if she still sometimes takes a spill under circumstances outside her control. Her reflexes, however, aren’t remotely fast enough for her to react in time to dodge Iris’s hand as it slaps down sharply on her thigh.

‘Shut  _ up,’ _ Iris blurts. Her eyes are wide like a cartoon character. ‘Tell me you’re kidding.’

Prompto rubs at her thigh with a pout. Even the dense denim of her jeans barely cushioned the blow from Iris’s hand; her skin stings angrily underneath.

‘Geez,  _ ow,’ _ she says. ‘And nope, not kidding. I kinda think he’s been requesting me so he can talk to me.’

Once the words are out, of course, it seems ridiculous — that somebody who probably makes more in a month than she does in a year would take an interest in her. She knows she wouldn’t believe it from her own mouth if she were somebody else, and yet the number in her contacts would suggest otherwise.

‘Tell me you called him,’ Iris says.

Meekly, Prompto shakes her head. She sees Iris’s hand lash out again and preempts another blow, but Iris merely covers her face and groans.

‘I swear,’ Iris says, sighing. ‘You’re your own worst enemy. Please, tell me why Insomnia’s most eligible bachelor gives you his number and you don’t have that on speed dial.’

Prompto snorts and spears a piece of pasta with her fork. She doesn’t know about  _ most eligible bachelor; _ she hadn’t even heard of the guy before all of this. She’ll admit he’s sexy, if a little uptight, but so far all of the checks in the Perfect Man column only serve to convince her that they’d never work out. At least with Gladiolus, he’s a little grittier — a little more down-to-earth. She doesn’t need to stress over being herself around him.

‘I dunno,’ she says. ‘I don’t even know what we’d talk about. Me and fashion don’t really go hand-in-hand.’

Iris heaves a sigh, and it sounds a little resigned — like Prompto’s just dashed any and all hopes of her living the vicarious life of her dreams. She sticks her fork into her salad and pushes a cherry tomato around morosely.

The subject, at least, hasn’t strayed back to Prompto’s  _ mystery guy. _ She hopes it doesn’t have to.

Conversation lulls, and the only sounds between them are the sporadic noises of chewing and cutlery on dishes. Prompto’s just considering asking if there’s anybody in Iris’s life when her roommate turns to her with a sly little smile.

‘I bet the sex would be amazing, though,’ Iris says. She heaves a dreamy, theatrical sigh and rests her chin in her hand, staring off toward the window. ‘He seems like he’d be  _ super _ intense.’

‘Dude, gross,’ Prompto protests. ‘Quit thinking about me having sex with him.’

An unladylike snort issues from Iris’s nose; it’s probably a good thing her fork full of food had only been partway to her mouth or she’d be choking right now.

‘I’m not,’ Iris says. ‘But if you don’t give him a call, I might have to instead.’

There’s a split second where Prompto thinks she’s joking, but it evaporates into the ether as Iris makes a lunge for the pocket where Prompto’s phone is safely squirrelled away. Her jeans pockets are a tight squeeze — a perennial curse of women’s clothing — but she doesn’t doubt that Iris would rip the damn things open given enough incentive.

‘All right, all right!’ Prompto laughs, hopping off her seat and twisting out of reach. ‘I’ll call him, geez!’

That should be the end of it — but of course Iris is stubborn, and she’s never been one not to follow through, so when Prompto doesn’t immediately grab her phone and start dialling she puts on her best stern teacher expression, folds her arms across her chest, and gives a pointed look at Prompto’s pocket.

There’s no point in fighting it; with an exasperated sigh, Prompto reaches into her pocket and swipes open the lock.

Iris watches like a hawk as Prompto scrolls through to Ignis’s details — she doesn’t seem content until it’s dialling, the repetitive ringing drone echoing out from the speaker.

‘Hello?’

Prompto’s heart leaps in spite of herself. She may have had every intention of letting Ignis’s number go forgotten in her contacts, but that doesn’t mean she can’t admit he’s attractive. Even the brisk, harried greeting he gives is undeniably sexy in his clipped British accent.

She almost forgets to respond but, with an excited little wave from Iris, soon finds her voice.

‘Ignis! Hi!’ she blurts. ‘It’s Prompto. The, uh. The courier.’

She ignores the look Iris gives her and turns away, pacing into the living room.

‘Ah, of course,’ Ignis replies. ‘I’m surprised you called. You didn’t seem entirely convinced when we last spoke.’

She doubts he’d find it cute to know that her roommate had to goad her into it, so she keeps the details to herself and gives a self-conscious chuckle.

‘I don’t usually get people asking me out when I’m working,’ she admits. ‘Helmet hair, y’know.’

She thinks she hears a slight exhale from Ignis, as though he’s smiling.

‘I assure you,’ he says, ‘there was no helmet hair. Even so, I’d scarcely have let it frighten me off.’

Prompto gives another timid little laugh. If she could stop doing that — and stop worrying that she’s going to make a complete fool of herself — it’d be great.

‘So uh,’ she says. ‘About that coffee. Still interested?’

Somehow, the silence that follows seems to stretch into forever even though it mustn’t last more than a few seconds. During that preternatural eternity, she imagines he must have changed his mind already; that even the awkwardness of the conversation thus far was enough to put him off.

‘Certainly,’ he says. ‘My days are rather busy, but I’m available in the evening if that suits. Around eight?’

Prompto’s pretty sure she can feel the floor falling out from underneath her. Over the span of ten minutes or less, she went from being convinced she’d never see Ignis again to making actual plans to go for a date with him. A real  _ date, _ and with somebody supposedly mega-famous in the fashion world.

She feels a twinge of guilt — that she’s making plans with some guy when she’s been seeing Gladiolus in the meantime. It can’t hurt to play the field a little, though, right? She and Gladio have technically only had one real date… 

‘Sure,’ she finds herself saying, and a strange feeling of pleasure floods in to overcome the guilt. ‘Thursday?’

That should give her a few days to prepare herself, and it leaves her weekend open if Gladiolus wants to hook up.

‘Thursday,’ Ignis echoes. ‘Perfect. There’s a late-night café off Via Theatrum, I can forward the details if you like.’

_ Café, _ Prompto thinks.  _ Even the way he talks is sexy. _

Maybe Iris’s little comment about the guy being good in bed isn’t so far off-base.

‘Cool,’ Prompto says. ‘Eight on Thursday. I… guess I’ll see you then.’

She thinks she can hear him smiling again on the other end of the line again, and this time she can’t help but grin in turn.

‘Wonderful,’ Ignis says. ‘Oh, and Prompto — I’m glad you decided to call.’

His voice echoes in her ear after the call disconnects, and her brain can’t help filling in with a mental image of him, still in his work attire, his shirt probably rakishly unbuttoned at the collar. She wonders if his hair’s still done up in that fancy side-part, or if it’s a little messier now that he’s out of the office.

‘Soooo?’

Iris’s overeager voice draws her back to the moment. She turns, pocketing her phone as she goes, and gives her friend a shrug.

‘So,’ she says. ‘I guess I’ve got a date.’

Iris’s ensuing shriek is ear-piercing, and probably loud enough to penetrate the walls and floor of the apartment. There’s no doubt that she’s excited, which is something at least — as the exhilaration dies down within Prompto, there’s nothing left but that little pang of guilt.

She doesn’t have to pursue things with Ignis, she tells herself; she can go along, have a nice time, and they can go their separate ways.

It’s just coffee, after all.


	6. The Date

Prompto isn’t nervous. Those butterflies doing gymnastics in her stomach? They’re nothing to do with her date with Ignis.

That’s what she keeps telling herself, anyway, as she strides across the city toward the address Ignis texted her earlier in the week: that she’s not nervous; that she has no reason to be; that Ignis isn’t going to see through the sleek updo and outfit — painstakingly styled by Iris — to the corn-fed Midwestern girl underneath.

There’s a part of her that wonders if this is all some big mistake — if she somehow misunderstood Ignis’s intentions, and she’s going into what _she_ thinks is a date only to find out it’s an interview.

Not that she thinks she’d have much of a chance in an interview with him, either.

She repeats every mantra she can think of as she walks, every affirmation that could’ve sprung straight from the pages of a self-help book, and maybe she has herself at least a little convinced as she steps through the doors of the little mom-and-pop coffee shop.

It’s not the sort of venue she’d expect from the editor of an internationally-acclaimed fashion magazine, with its rustic red-brick walls and mismatched tables and chairs, but sure enough Ignis already waits for her within.

She’s practicing her greeting — gotta make sure it’s just the right balance of aloof and interested — when he looks up and catches her glance with an expression that shifts from neutral to warm in the blink of an eye. He all but springs to his feet, moving around the table to welcome her with a kiss on the cheek.

So, probably not an interview.

‘I hope you found this place all right,’ he says, pulling a chair for her. He even helps her move it in close to the table once she’s seated, like some storybook gentleman. ‘It’s one of Insomnia’s better-kept secrets.’

He leaves the faint scent of cologne behind as he moves away to take his own seat — probably something ridiculously expensive with a designer name on the bottle. Prompto, meanwhile, opted for honey-scented body lotion from the dollar store. She hopes he can’t tell the difference.

She’s glad, now that she’s face-to-face with the guy, that she enlisted Iris’s help in dressing for the occasion. Busy as he might be, he apparently had time to change after work; he wears dark skinny jeans and a purple shirt, both tailored to accentuate every sloping line of his frame, and he’s styled his normally precise hair into a more casual low pompadour. So maybe she’s nothing special in her pencil dress and cardigan thrown over top, but it’s probably better than the skull-adorned garments she might have picked out for herself.

‘Oh yeah,’ she says. ‘I guess it’s pretty hard for you to go incognito. Must be nice to have someplace you can relax.’

He smiles freely and easily, his eyes crinkling a little at the corners.

‘Precisely,’ he replies. ‘Much easier to enjoy one’s coffee in peace.’

They don’t order at the counter; a chubby girl in a patchwork apron, probably barely out of high school, swings by their table with a notebook in hand and a dimpled smile on her face. Prompto dithers over picking something that sounds sophisticated, or something that will taste good. In the end she opts for a latte with a shot of caramel. Ignis orders his coffee black, unsurprisingly.

‘I don’t know too much about the whole fashion thing,’ Prompto admits shyly once the girl has gone. ‘I… kinda hadn’t heard of you before my roommate had a mini-freakout over your name.’

The cliche goes that everybody in the fashion world has an over-inflated ego, from the photographers to the models they shoot. Ignis, however, seems to take her admission in stride with a candid laugh.

‘I’ll confess, it’s refreshing,’ he replies. ‘I don’t often have a chance to run into people outside the industry — you start to forget who’s your friend and who wants something from you.’

‘Wow,’ Prompto says. ‘When you put it that way, you make your job sound so enjoyable.’

Another candid laugh from Ignis; Prompto’s glance goes of its own accord to his eyes where they crinkle at the corners, the one show of experience in an otherwise youthful face.

‘It’s challenging,’ Ignis says with a nod. ‘Frustrating, even. But I can’t say I could see myself in any other line of work — where else would I have the chance to meet so many people, to travel the world?’

‘There must be a lot of models and designers out there, huh?’ Prompto says.

‘ _Moda_ isn’t _all_ about clothes, Prompto,’ Ignis counters. ‘We have features on politics, on activism. We recently had an issue dedicated to the Me Too movement, where women from the industry spoke out about their experiences. I’d tell you about some of the topics we have coming up, but I’d have to get you to sign an NDA first.’

Prompto bursts out with laughter; from the slightly bemused look on Ignis’s face, she gathers he wasn’t kidding.

‘Okay, okay,’ she says. ‘You’ve got me convinced. Maybe I’ll pick it up sometime.’

‘Give me your email,’ Ignis replies, and he reaches into the pocket of his shirt to withdraw his phone. ‘I’ll send you the digital catalogue.’

Their drinks arrive while he’s taking down her details, and Prompto wonders, as she takes the first scalding sip, when the last time was that she had coffee out of anything but a disposable cup. There’s no corporate logo emblazoned on the side of her mug; it’s quaint and kitschy, with a repeating pattern of roosters and cornfields.

‘So, I’m curious,’ she says. ‘What’s a guy like you see in a girl like me? Besides the fact that I had absolutely no idea who you were before you nearly killed me with your car door.’

She’s teasing, and Ignis rewards her for it with a wry smile.

‘Beautiful, clever, good sense of humour,’ he says. ‘I imagine you’re beating them away with a stick.’

Laughter bursts out from Prompto’s mouth, loud and unexpected, and the sound startles a student working on her laptop at a nearby table. With an apologetic glance, Prompto ducks her head and lowers her voice.

‘Not exactly,’ she says. ‘There is… somebody. But it’s pretty casual.’

Ignis gives a thoughtful nod as he drinks his coffee; his face gives very little away.

‘There hasn’t been anyone for a while,’ Ignis states, carefully replacing his coffee cup on its saucer. ‘A lack of time, mostly.’

‘You made time for me,’ Prompto points out.

Ignis’s complexion tends towards the fair; his face, dappled with a stray scattering of beauty marks, flushes a delicate pink. Prompto finds herself thinking how it sets off his eyes, contrasting with their green hue.

He seems to rein it in well enough, however, giving a polite cough into his fist.

‘Call it taking a chance,’ he says, after a pause.

His eyes lock with hers across the table — it’s her turn to blush, and she doesn’t hide it quite so well as Ignis.

‘So what do you do for fun?’ she asks, abruptly changing the subject. ‘Assuming you get the time, I guess.’

‘Work has me jetting about for much of the year,’ Ignis replies. ‘I’m rather interested in the arts, so most of my downtime when I’m travelling is an excuse to visit the museums of the world.’

At this, Prompto perks up considerably. She may not know much about fashion or culture, but art is something she can appreciate at the very least.

‘Have you been to the Louvre?’ she asks excitedly. ‘I always dreamed of going someday but, uh… kinda have to leave the country to do that.’

She expects him to mock her, or express surprise; surely somebody accustomed to the jetset lifestyle can’t fathom a world where you don’t just hop on a plane on a whim. To Prompto, her biggest aspirations were to get away from the flyover states — her life in Insomnia, while far from glamorous, is about as close to a dream come true as she could get.

Instead of deriding her, however, Ignis simply nods with interest.

‘It’s certainly worth a visit,’ he says, ‘although the Metropolitan is spectacular as well should you get the chance to go. Perhaps someday you might have the opportunity to travel abroad, but there are plenty of treasures to be seen closer to home.’

'Good point,’ Prompto agrees. 'I guess if I was on vacation someplace like that I'd probably be too busy taking pictures of all the sights to stay in museums all day.’

‘You take pictures?’ Ignis asks. 'Hobby or passion?’

‘Little of both?’ Prompto says with a shrug. ‘I don’t get to do it too much any more but I try to bring my camera with me whenever I can.’

Ignis raises an eyebrow with interest; sits up a little. It's daunting to have the full attention of someone so cosmopolitan, particularly one who probably works with seasoned photographers every day of the week.

‘Do you have anything I might see?’

Even now, Prompto’s phone is brimming over with pictures: shots of the city; snaps of interesting meals she’s eaten; candids of friends. She has three more memory cards at home, filled with pictures she can’t bring herself to delete to free up space — and that’s just the stuff captured on her phone. The thought of showing Ignis _any_ of it is beyond terrifying.

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ she says hurriedly. ‘I don’t really have any examples just laying around. ‘Sides, I’m sure you don’t wanna see my cookie-cutter stuff.’

Ignis’s green eyes bear into hers, afire with a sort of determination that says he’s not likely to back down. More than that — he seems genuinely interested in her stuff, instead of just asking to be polite.

‘Nonsense,’ he states. ‘I’d love to see your work. If you’d let me, of course. A blog, perhaps?’

‘Uh,’ she stutters. ‘I guess there’s my Insta? There’s probably a lot of stuff to comb through, but that’s pretty much where I keep everything.’

For the second time, Prompto finds herself listing her details off for Ignis to take down on his phone; suddenly she’s very much glad that she keeps her photography profile separate from her private one, since she’s not sure he’d have much interest in trawling through a billion selfies.

It’s a little surreal, she decides as she busies herself with her steadily-cooling latte, that over the course of one coffee date she’s given the editor of a fashion magazine her email _and_ her Instagram handle.

‘So you like photography,’ Ignis says, once his phone is away in his pocket, ‘and you’re a courier by trade. That still doesn’t tell me much about _you._ Where did you grow up? Did you go to university?’

‘Kansas,’ she says. ‘And yeah, I studied photography at U of I. Moved out here first chance I got. What about you?’

‘I’m from London, originally,’ Ignis supplies, ‘although I moved around a lot before settling here — Paris, Sidney, New York. I studied at Tisch, actually. Film.’

Prompto laughs in surprise.

‘Film?’ she echoes. ‘That’s a bit of a leap to editor of a huge fashion magazine. How’d that happen?’

Ignis shakes his head somewhat ruefully, and from the hint of a wry smile on his lips Prompto guesses there’s quite a story behind it.

‘I dabbled in modelling,’ he admits, unable to quite meet her eye. ‘It… wasn’t for me. But it taught me a lot about the industry, and I wound up making some valuable contacts that set me off on the right path.’

Prompto can only imagine at the trajectory Ignis’s career must have taken; to start out at Tisch, somewhere she’d once dreamed of studying, and not only spend time as a model but also end up at the helm of a fashion magazine, is beyond her wildest reckoning. She can’t speak to his talent, but she knows at least that he must have had something of a charmed life.

She can’t help wondering about the whole modelling thing, too; as she lifts her drink to her lips and takes a sip, she takes a surreptitious glance at Ignis and decides she could easily see it with his defined features and angular frame.

‘If you’re wondering if I have any photos from those days,’ Ignis says demurely, ‘I’m afraid that they’re best left unseen, for both our sakes. The early 2000s were an… interesting time for fashion.’

Prompto snorts. She can clearly remember pictures of herself as a tween, wearing halter tops and low-rise jeans and tattoo chokers.

‘Y’know, Google’s a thing,’ she reminds him. ‘Your name’s pretty unusual. Shouldn’t take long to dig up some dirt.’

Ignis laughs, unrestrained; he sounds almost startled by the prospect.

‘I really hope you don’t,’ he says. ‘I’m afraid it might put you off me for good.’

Prompto shrugs carelessly and leans back in her seat, stretching her arms out over her head. She feels emboldened with Ignis — not shy and meek, as she’d been afraid of. He makes her feel like her opinions are worth hearing. Like he’s actually _interested._

‘Don’t worry,’ she says, with a smirk. ‘It’d take more than a few embarrassing pictures to do that.’The coffee shop shuts at ten; they’re still there thirty minutes after the doors close, wrapped up in conversation, and it’s only when Ignis spots his watch with a curse that they realise how late they’ve lingered.

He’s profusely apologetic — the staff, however, seem to have some sort of rapport with him and they wave off his apologies with a smile. Prompto doesn’t think she’s ever seen baristas so cheerful about being kept after closing.

Outside, there’s a little chill in the spring air and Ignis helps Prompto back into her cardigan. His fingers brush her skin as he goes; she ignores the way her skin prickles into gooseflesh, attributing it to the cold.

‘Shall I call you a taxi?’ he asks, his hand going for his phone.

Prompto shakes her head.

‘Walk with me,’ she says. ‘I don’t live too far from here.’

It’s dark and she’s glad for the company, but more so she doesn’t want the date to end. Whatever remnants of reluctance had been leftover prior to arrival are gone now, and she has to admit it’s been a pretty wonderful night.

Ignis offers her his arm in a show of chivalry, and she’s all too happy to slip her hand through it and hug close to his side as they walk through the city.

‘I can’t believe we stayed so late after close,’ Prompto says with an embarrassed little laugh. ‘I totally lost track of time.’

‘Time flies,’ Ignis says mischievously. ‘I’m sure they’d have been shoving us out the door if I weren’t a regular.’

Prompto nods thoughtfully. Regular or not, she’s not entirely convinced she would’ve been content with staying so late to let some rich guy in fancy tailored clothes woo his date.

‘Well, we can keep an eye on the time next time,’ she says. ‘Be a bit of a buzzkill to get thrown out of somewhere, huh?’

She doesn’t think anything of what she just said until she catches Ignis giving her an amused glance out of the corner of her eye. When she turns to look at him, she feels her cheeks heat preemptively and hopes Ignis can’t see in the off-colour light streaming from overhead.

‘Next time?’ he echoes. ‘So I can count on seeing you again?’

‘I mean—’ Prompto stutters. ‘I guess — I wasn’t—’

Ignis’s soft chuckle cuts her off.

‘It’s all right,’ he says. ‘You don’t have to decide now. Although I’ll admit I’m a bit biased as to the outcome of your decision.’

They walk in silence, and although it’s not uncomfortable — there’s something nice about walking arm-in-arm with Ignis, leaning slightly into him to accommodate for the difference in their stature — Prompto can’t help but dissect everything mentally now that there’s no conversation to keep her distracted.

So the plan had been one date to get Iris off her case, but now she’s not so sure; she actually had a great time, and she’s not getting that sick feeling of unease over whether or not he’s going to try to kiss her that she gets sometimes after dates.

Of course, now she’s thinking about kissing him, which only sets her cheeks burning all the more vibrantly.

‘What does somebody so high-profile do on a second date, anyways?’ she asks. ‘I don’t see you as the dinner-and-a-movie type.’

Ignis scoffs.

‘I go to the cinema just like everyone else,’ he states, with mock severity. ‘Sometimes, when I’m feeling particularly brave, I even order _nachos.’_

Prompto fights the urge to squeal for the millionth time over yet another Britishism; after an evening laced with _chuffed_ and _bloody well,_ she’s firmly convinced Ignis’s accent is her favourite.

‘Melty, gross, movie theatre cheese?’ she says, wincing. ‘You’re braver than I am.’

‘Tell me about your dream date,’ Ignis prompts, using his arm to gently nudge her where she holds onto it. ‘It might just give me some inspiration. Sky’s the limit.’

‘That’s _cheating,’_ Prompto laughs, but still she lapses into silence as she considers it.

Dinners and movies are a tried and true favourite, but they’re hardly imaginative. She’s not so sure Ignis would go for the whole _Netflix and chill_ thing, either.

She chews her lip while she thinks and looks around the city for inspiration. Their route takes them along the glossy main streets, past stores that, although long since closed, still have displays all lit up to catch the eye of passers-by.

They stroll by a lingerie store and Prompto pauses as the display catches her eye — a backdrop of Paris by night, the monuments all lit up across the skyline. There’s a lone mannequin, dressed up in some sexy chiffon nightgown, posed at an elaborate set piece mimicking a hotel room with a view over the city.

‘Okay,’ she says, tapping her lip. ‘Paris.’

Ignis glances at her, then up at the window; his eyes take in the display, the lights of the window glinting in the reflection of his glasses.

‘Oh?’

Prompto nods resolutely.

‘Yup,’ she says. ‘Dinner on top of the Eiffel Tower, moonlit walk along the Seine.’

‘Does this racy little negligee feature at all?’ Ignis asks.

Prompto turns and swats at him, but he just about manages to dodge away before she can connect, laughing as he goes.

‘I’m afraid the Eiffel Tower is rather unromantic in person,’ he says sadly. ‘Unless you like your dates in the company of dozens of tourists. The moonlit walk sounds wonderful, though.’

Prompto makes a face.

‘Scratch the Eiffel Tower, then,’ she states. ‘What would you do instead?’

‘There’s almost too much to choose from,’ Ignis says. ‘The Arc de Triomphe at night. Dinner at a little bistro on the Île de la Cité. A stroll at sunset through Père Lachaise. Perhaps a boat ride on the lake at Bois de Boulogne.’

It all sounds incredible, and hearing it pronounced — to perfection — by Ignis just makes it even more appealing. Prompto has a fleeting fantasy of sitting in a mood-lit restaurant in Paris with Ignis rattling off their orders in fluent French; she must let her mind wander for ever so slightly too long, as he’s looking at her expectantly when she snaps out of it.

‘Wow,’ she says. ‘That _does_ sound like a good time.’

Ignis looks a little pleased with himself; after a beat, Prompto tugs his arm and they set off once more.

‘It would all be too much to do in a single day, of course,’ Ignis states as they go along. ‘A weekend, perhaps, although I dare say you’d be rushed trying to cram it all in. Paris is best enjoyed in bite-sized servings, the better to soak it in at your leisure.’

‘You said you lived in Paris, didn’t you?’ Prompto asks.

Ignis nods.

‘It was when I was… ah,’ he tapers off, looking a little sheepish. ‘Still harbouring aspirations as a model. I spent a summer there while I was studying at Tisch, living with a girlfriend in a studio apartment rotten with mold. I told myself it was all rather romantic — living week to week, sleeping on a broken mattress on the floor, using candles whenever the electricity packed in. I certainly couldn’t do it again.’

Prompto whistles slowly. Somehow, she can’t picture this meticulously put-together man living such a life, even if it _was_ over a decade ago. She tries to do the math to figure out how old he must be; it seems rude to outright _ask._

‘Sounds…’ she begins, pausing as she searches for the right word.

‘Horrendous,’ Ignis supplies. ‘It was positively _awful._ It wasn’t all bad, though — I got to see a side of the city not usually afforded to tourists, and I taught myself to cook into the bargain.’

They’re just a few blocks over from her place now; she’s having so much fun learning about Ignis — seeing that there’s so much more to him than the tailored clothes and chiseled jawline — that it seems a shame to let the night end.

She has work tomorrow, however — and she never intended to have such a good time to begin with.

‘I’ve lived in some crummy apartments,’ she says. ‘Can’t say it ever made me any better of a cook. I’d probably die without an electric oven.’

Her words prompt a laugh from Ignis, but there’s nothing mocking about it. He lays a hand over hers where it’s still threaded through his arm and gives her a candid smile.

‘That’s another date idea,’ he says cheerily. ‘Cooking class. There’s something wonderful about learning to make something from scratch together.’

Maybe their walk goes on for hours; maybe it’s only a few minutes. Time seems to lose all meaning with Ignis as they stroll side-by-side through the streets, past towering apartment buildings and convenience stores illuminated in fluorescent light.

They come, inevitably, to Prompto’s street — and she’s struck with a feeling of dismay as she stops outside, tilting her head back to look up at the building. The lights are on in her place; probably Iris waiting up to make sure she’s safe, as was once their custom years ago.

‘This is me,’ she says, gesturing to the door.

Carefully, Ignis slips his arm free of hers and glances up at the building. If he’s thinking anything about the condition of it compared to the lifestyle he’s accustomed to, he says nothing of it.

‘Well, thank you for a lovely evening,’ he says.

Prompto wonders if that’s it — if that’s their cue. His evening might have been _lovely,_ but maybe it didn’t quite click for him as it did for her.

She might not have been invested in this date prior to it, but she feels a little twinge of disappointment. Was all that chemistry she felt, all the in-depth conversation, just a one-sided thing?

She expects him to turn to go, but as he moves it’s not to step away — rather to shift closer, his hand gently closing around her wrist. For a moment, they linger on the threshold of something and she feels herself vibrating with potential, with urgency and hesitation and anticipation all at once.

He steps closer, and as he stoops, she closes her eyes and stretches up on tiptoe to meet his lips with her own.

His lips, Prompto decides, are as soft as they look; his touch is gentle as he lifts his free hand to her cheek, brushing a stray strand of hair out of her face.

It’s a chaste kiss, all things considered, but still her heart is hammering as they pull away. She feels dizzy and heady, and she’s pretty sure her eyes are all glazed over as she lifts them blearily to look into his. He’s smiling, faintly, as he cups her cheek with his hand.

‘Goodnight, Prompto,’ he says.

She’s in a daze as she lets herself in. By the time she gets to her floor, she can’t even remember if she took the elevator or the stairs, her mind still firmly rooted on that kiss. It might have been innocent, but it left her reeling.

Iris, of course, is waiting eagerly for her return — when she lets herself in, her friend all but assails her at the doorway, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

‘Soooo,’ she prompts. ‘How was it? Tell me _everything.’_

Prompto feels her face split into a grin, and she couldn’t stop it even if she wanted to.


	7. The Gift

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Kinktober Day 9 — _Lingerie_**
> 
> This chapter got long. And smutty (finally).

It’s waiting for her when she gets back to the depot at the end of the next day — a bag from some boutique store, tied up with a black silk ribbon, with Prompto’s name printed in looping handwriting on the label. The boutique’s name — Hartmanns — rings a bell, but she can’t quite place it.

Aranea watches her with interest as she inspects the bag. Sometimes the couriers have things shipped to the depot if they know they’re going to miss a delivery — orders from Amazon, mostly. Prompto suspects, as she tugs at the one end of the ribbon to pull it loose, that this is the first time something so extravagant has shown up.

By now Aranea isn’t the only one watching, and a couple of Prompto’s colleagues stand nearby peering towards her curiously.

Within the bag is a box. There’s a note slipped under the ribbon tied around it; the same handwriting is on this one, and Prompto’s breath catches in her throat as she sees a familiar name signed at it the bottom of it.

_Prompto,_

_I’m sure this is a wildly inappropriate gift after the first date, but I couldn’t resist. Perhaps someday I’ll be lucky enough to see you in it?_

_— Ignis_

She lets the note flutter to the bench in front of her in her haste to get the ribbon open. It’s probably a testament to the quality of the gift packaging that she doesn’t tear the damn thing open.

She lifts the lid off and sets it aside, and pulls at the layers of tissue until her fingers meet something supremely _soft_ beneath.

Silk and chiffon, pale pink; she plucks at delicate straps, connected with heart-shaped loops, and lifts the item up the better to look at it. She recognises the name of the boutique now — it’s the lingerie store from the night before — and the item she currently holds in her hands is the pretty little negligee that had hung from the mannequin in the window.

Aranea moves over, plucking at the note before Prompto can stop her. She pores over it with interest, an eyebrow raised.

‘There’s more on the back,’ she says, holding it up for Prompto to see.

_P.S. — Dinner next week?_

_It’s not Paris, but I think I can find an alternative that might impress you._

Prompto mulls over the words, but she’s more fixated on the lingerie dangling in her grasp. She can’t deny that it’s beautiful — even without trying it on, she thinks the colour looks fantastic against the paleness of her skin — but she’s not quite over the fact that Ignis bought it _for her._ There must be some mistake, somehow. They only went for coffee; what did she do to deserve such a lavish gift?

‘Somebody’s got a sugar daddy,’ Aranea says, clucking her tongue in approval.

 _It’s not like that,_ Prompto wants to say, but the words won’t quite come. If it’s not, what _is_ it?

The other couriers roast her as she packs up and leaves — she gets wolf whistles from all sides, and her cheeks are hot as she pedals away onto the street, the gift safely packed away in her bag.

* * *

Prompto has a beer in one hand, her phone in the other; she’s been staring periodically at Ignis’s name on the screen ever since she got home, unsure if she should call him or if she’s supposed to wait for _him_ to do the chasing.

She chews her lips and casts a glance across the living room to the box where it sits, open, on the armchair. She hasn’t even been able to bring herself to try to damn thing on — when she Googled the boutique, she’d been so overwhelmed by the prices that she’d felt a little faint.

She has to send it back. That’s the right thing to do, surely.

And yet…

With a sigh, she sets her beer aside and gets to her feet, lifting her phone to her ear as her thumb jabs the _dial_ button on the screen.

‘Prompto. How are you?’

He doesn’t sound surprised to hear from her. She’s not sure whether to find that sexy, or aggravatingly cocky.

‘Oh, you know,’ she says, her tone light. ‘Just chilling out after work with a beer. Staring at the three-hundred-dollar lingerie that showed up at work today.’

‘It arrived safely, then,’ he says. ‘Glad to hear it.’

Prompto chokes back a startled laugh. Is he so oblivious that he doesn’t think she’d take issue with such an expensive gift?

Iris headed out for drinks with some colleagues from work; Prompto wishes she were here to give her trademark cutting brand of advice. She tries to imagine what her friend would say, what brilliant insight she’d have on the situation, but she’s drawing a blank.

‘Not that it’s not beautiful,’ Prompto says, ‘and not that I’m not _incredibly_ grateful, but I can’t accept this.’

‘Ah.’

Even in that little utterance, Ignis’s voice drips with disappointment. She almost feels guilty, but she sticks to her guns. This is probably what Iris would tell her to do… Right?

‘Of course it’s your choice,’ Ignis says, ‘but may I ask why not?’

‘Why not what?’ Prompto says.

‘Why you can’t accept it.’

Prompto grits out another laugh. It’s hard to tell if he’s toying with her now, or just being dense. It’s infuriating.

 _‘Because,’_ she says, ‘it’s too expensive.’

‘Not to me.’

‘Ignis,’ Prompto counters. ‘It’s three hundred bucks. That’s expensive, okay?’

There’s a sigh on the other end of the line, heavy with the sound of defeat.

‘Why don’t you sleep on it?’ Ignis suggests. ‘If you decide by Monday that you don’t want to keep it, you can send it to my office and I’ll return it, no questions asked.’

A refusal is ready on Prompto’s lips — she’d bike out to Chamberlain Publications right _now_ if she knew the place were open — but something stops her as she glances toward the offending garment where it sits innocently in its box, the chiffon glinting slightly in the light of the floor lamp.

If Iris were here, she’d probably tell Prompto to at least _consider_ it. There’s no harm in hanging onto the gift through the weekend, if only to humour Ignis.

‘I don’t know,’ she murmurs, teeth pulling at her bottom lip. ‘I guess… I’unno. Are you sure you didn’t just get it to bribe me into going on a second date with you?’

Ignis laughs down the line, sudden and surprised.

‘I worried you’d assume the worst,’ he says. ‘No, Prompto, it’s not a bribe — it’s yours to keep, whether we see each other again or not.’

Prompto taps her foot on the floor. She treads across the room and, with the slightest touch of her fingertips, brushes the edge of the nightdress.

‘Really?’ she says.

‘Really. Keep it for yourself. Or for that _casual someone_ you mentioned.’

She’d forgotten that she hinted at Gladio’s existence; in hindsight, she thinks with a wince, it might not have been the best move to make on a first date.

‘You buy me a three-hundred-dollar piece of lingerie and tell me to wear it for the other guy I’m seeing,’ she says flatly. ‘I don’t think that’s how it’s supposed to work.’

Ignis gives a soft chuckle.

‘I bought it because I think you’d look good in it,’ he states. ‘Whether you wear it for me or not is immaterial.’

Prompto can’t help but smirk.

‘You’re an odd one, Mr. Scientia,’ she says.

‘Perhaps.’

'I’m gonna go get back to my beer,’ Prompto says. 'Enjoy your weekend.’

'You too. Do let me know if it fits, should you decide to try it on.’

Prompto shakes her head wryly. He's really not going to let this drop, is he?

'Will do,’ she replies. _'If_ I try it on.’

* * *

She doesn’t — but even when Iris heckles her to do so, it’s an exercise in willpower to resist. That doesn’t mean that she doesn’t take it out of the box a handful of times, however, and hold it up to herself in the mirror. Even Prompto has to admit it _does_ look good.

If she’s taunting herself, she doesn’t care. She might as well enjoy the _idea_ of wearing it even a little before she sends it back to Ignis on Monday.

Iris is out of the house again all day Sunday for some team-building retreat — ‘Whitewater rafting and sweat lodges,’ Iris had said. ‘It’s all BS, but the district’s paying for it!’ — so Prompto runs herself a mid-morning bubble bath and camps out in the tub with Netflix, with every intention of spending the day monopolising the couch.

Her phone buzzes on its perch on the closed lid of the toilet beside her; with a beleaguered sigh, she pauses the video and leans over to grab it.

She’d be more than content to send it to voicemail, but Gladio’s name is lit up on the screen — almost spilling water over the edge of the tub in her haste to sit up, she hits answer and lifts the phone to her ear.

‘Hey,’ she says.

‘Hey yourself,’ Gladio replies. ‘How you doin’, stranger?’

He sounds tired, his voice a little hoarse. If Prompto didn’t know, she’d think he had a hangover.

‘I’m good,’ she says. ‘Soaking in the tub. You working last night?’

‘Uh huh. That obvious?’

Prompto scoffs. Idly, she drags her fingertips through the bubbles on the surface of the water.

‘Kinda,’ she says. ‘The sexy phone voice gave it away.’

Gladiolus chuckles, which only amplifies the effect.

‘At least _you_ think it’s sexy,’ he replies. ‘Not so sure I agree.’

‘So what are you up to for the day?’ she asks. ‘Catching up on sleep?’

‘Nah. Kinda hoped you were free.’

Prompto feels her stomach jolt — and it’s not unpleasant. Even after her date with Ignis was such a resounding success, she hasn’t forgotten the chemistry that had crackled between her and Gladiolus at the club, and even during their more subdued dinner date.

‘Yeah,’ she says, perking up. ‘I mean, what’d you have in mind?’

‘Lunch?’ Gladio suggests.

Prompto gives a groan of dismay. So much for her plan to lounge around all day.

‘How about we stay in instead?’ she says. ‘Iris is gone all day. That way I don’t need to get all dressed up.’

‘You don’t need to anyways,’ Gladiolus says with a laugh. ‘But okay, sounds good. Be there in an hour?’

‘Sure thing.’

An hour gives Prompto enough time to soak a little while longer in the tub — and then try to make herself somewhat presentable. She doesn’t quite go _all_ out, and she ties her hair up wet to let it dry in waves, but she picks out actual clothes instead of pajamas and spends a while deliberating over sweats or jeans, only to opt for the latter.

She’s brushing on some mascara when the intercom goes off; that flip flop feeling comes in her stomach again in anticipation as she buzzes him up.

The place is a little messy, but that's as much Iris's fault as her own. She makes sure there are no dirty clothes lying around, at least, and nothing moldy in the refrigerator.

His knock is heavy on the door — there could be no doubts about who it is. Prompto takes a breath, gives a last surveying glance of the apartment, and heads to answer it.

When Prompto sees him, she regrets not putting a little more effort in. Even dressed in his own take on casual attire, he looks incredible: a tight-fitting tank top, jeans, his hair artfully swept back into a messy knot behind his head. His eyes have dark circles underneath them, but she hardly notices from the way they light up when he greets her.

‘Hey,’ he says, letting his weight slump against the doorframe.

He lifts his arm, and in his grasp is an oversized paper bag from a coffee shop down the street. She can smell coffee and, more importantly, _bagels._ Her stomach gives a delighted growl in response to the alluring scent, and it’s all she can do not to snatch the bag from his grasp.

Gladio laughs and hands it over, stepping in as she waves him through the doorway.

‘Figured you’d be hungry,’ he says.

They stake out seats on the sofa; Prompto perches herself close to Gladiolus, her knee gently pressed against the side of his thigh.

There's not only bagels — thick with cream cheese — but donuts too. Prompto’s really starting to think she likes the guy.

While they're eating, Gladio has to stifle a handful of yawns and his weariness becomes more readily apparent. Prompto can't imagine he got much sleep in between the night shift and showing up here.

'You sure you wouldn't be better off catching some Zs?’ she asks doubtfully. 'You've been yawning since you got here.’

Gladiolus has to catch himself as another yawn takes over; he cuts off with a shamefaced laugh, shaking his head.

'Sorry,’ he says. 'I’m awright. Gonna crash hard tonight, though.’

He leans forward and grabs his coffee from the table, and the movement dislodges a long strand of his dark hair, letting it fall into his eyes. Prompto feels the compulsion to brush it away, but he gets there before she has a chance.

‘You can crash here for a little while, if you want,’ she suggests. ‘My bed isn’t giant-sized, but you could probably squeeze into it.’

Gladio laughs; the sound seems to fill the compact space of the apartment, makes it feel cosier somehow. Like home.

‘Not really how I planned on getting into your bed,’ he teases.

‘Beast,’ Prompto counters, flicking him in the leg.

They make it through the bagels — Prompto’s too hungry to try to be delicate about eating, so she’s pretty sure she has cream cheese on her face and Gladio’s just too polite to say anything — and get started on the donuts. There’s glazed, powdered and chocolate filled, and Prompto’s pretty sure she’s in heaven.

She has to stop after her second donut, leaning back on the sofa and patting her belly in satisfaction. Gladiolus, meanwhile, seems to have reached no such limit.

‘Sweet tooth?’ Prompto asks, raising an eyebrow.

Gladio shakes his head.

‘More of a savoury guy,’ he says. ‘But there’s nothing like sugar-soaked carbs when you’re dead on your feet.’

Prompto nods and hums in agreement.

‘Junk food got me through college,’ she admits. ‘Well, and energy drinks. Pretty sure I’m immune to caffeine now.’

‘So you’re the one who got Iris onto that shit,’ Gladio says, laughing. ‘She was addicted.’

Prompto can remember many a late-night study session helping each other with flashcards and passing cans of Monster around — when it came time to write papers, they’d have a sizable stash of empty cans in the corner of their room for whenever they emerged from the fog long enough to clean up the aftermath.

‘I’m not saying I didn’t have a hand in it,’ she replies with an innocent shrug. ‘But she’s her own woman.’

Gladiolus scoffs.

‘That she is.’

Once Gladio has finished his share of the food, he stores Prompto’s donuts away for later and sprawls onto the couch once more. With a great, satisfied groan, he drops his head against the back of it and closes his eyes, shifting until he finds a comfortable position.

‘I’m serious about the bed,’ Prompto says gently. ‘You don’t need to feel weird about it.’

Slowly, Gladio tilts his chin down and cracks open his eyes to look at her. He seems uncharacteristically subdued, and after a beat he stretches out a hand and touches his thumb to her bottom lip.

If it seems like a romantic gesture, it’s not meant to be one — he removes it after a moment and dusts his fingers off, dislodging whatever crumb had obviously been on Prompto’s lip.

Prompto feels a flood of embarrassment, but Gladio’s eyes are still on her; he meets her glance with a soft smile and with his head resting against the couch, he's the picture of lazy domesticity.

'Ain’t here to sleep off the day,’ he says. 'I wanted to see _you.’_

So now maybe it _is_ a little romantic.

He sits upright and leans close — and there’s only a fraction of a second for her to register that he’s about to kiss her, right before he _does._ His hand comes up to her face, slipping through the still-damp strands of her ponytail; he uses it to pull her deeper into the kiss, and she all but melts into the caress.

It’s not making out, not in the sense that she knows it. Even as heat pools through her in response to his tongue skirting between her lips, she’s not thinking about where this little tryst might inevitably end up, but about Gladiolus: about how warm he is, how good he smells, how she’s missed him in the week since they last saw each other.

When he pulls away, eventually, she smiles up at him. Her cheeks are flushed, but it’s not a bad thing — for once it doesn’t make her want to hide her face.

‘Wow,’ she murmurs.

Gladiolus gives her a cartoonishly bemused look.

‘That a good thing, or…?’

‘Jackass,’ she mutters, rolling her eyes.

He’s grinning as he leans in for more, and this time she’s ready to meet him, slinging an arm around his neck and arching up to meet his kisses. Sitting lessens some of the height difference between them, although it’s still pronounced — she feels tiny next to him, no less so when he has one big, broad hand threaded through her hair and the other cupping her chin.

She pushes herself up onto her knees to reach him better, and somehow — the cramped seating on the sofa, her knee slipping into the crack between cushions, the movement catching Gladiolus off-guard — she winds up falling into him and he tumbles backward with a surprised laugh, the two of them sprawling together.

It might have been sweet in a cutesy, romcom kind of way, and Prompto would’ve been happy with that — until she finds herself bumping heads with him, and her laughter cuts off with a startled ‘Ow!’

Pain lances through her, but then she’s aware of Gladio gently slipping his arms around her and pulling her close, pressing a soft kiss to the spot on her head where they collided.

‘You okay?’ he asks.

She nods against his shoulder, squeezing her eyes shut where she buries her face against him. It’s not as bad as her accident on her bike a few weeks back, but it still stings like a bitch — although Gladiolus’s attentive care helps a little.

‘Maybe that’s a sign we should stop,’ Gladio suggests.

He barely gets the words out before Prompto sits up suddenly and shakes her head, grabbing one of his hands and moving it to the curve of her waist.

‘Don’t you _dare,’_ she warns, and with that she leans in to initiate another kiss.

He makes a noise of approval against her lips, his hand slipping just under the hem of her shirt to touch bare skin. She’s aware of goosebumps prickling underneath his palm, following in the wake of his touch as he smooths his hand upwards.

She wonders fleetingly, as his hand skirts over her bra, if it'd be a gross betrayal of the best friend code to bone Iris's brother on the couch she shares with her.

He cups her breast, his thumb brushing over her through the cotton of her bra, and that touch is enough to set her nipple hardening in response. Gladio seems to realise — and he flicks his thumb over it again, a little harder, with a touch that makes her breath catch in a little gasp where her mouth mashes against his.

She pulls away with a smacking sound as their lips part; presses a hand to Gladio's chest as if to stop him, but winds up grabbing a fistful of his shirt instead.

'Let’s move this into the bedroom,’ she murmurs.

Gladio's eyes are heavy-lidded; they glint with fire.

'Fine by me.’

She takes his hand, and if she feels a little like a teenager scurrying off to do the deed while her parents are out, she tells herself it's not a bad thing. So maybe it's not lovemaking after a romantic candlelit dinner, but the heat between her thighs is a more pressing concern.

Lateral thought vanishes once they're through the door; Gladio presses it shut and grabs her by the waist, spinning her so her back is to the door and pushing her up against it. Even through the thick fabric of his jeans she can feel the length of him where he presses into her hip.

They paw at each other like animals in heat, hands roving with abandon; Gladio's mouth is hot on hers and she's aware of herself making obscene noises in response, but she can't bring herself to care. She guides her hand down between them and closes it over the protrusion of his sex, stroking firmly through his jeans. The sound it prompts from him is so low and lustful that need rings through her in response — the need to hear more; to make him come undone.

She uses her knee to nudge him, walking him backwards toward the bed. As he goes he works at the button of her pants, his hand fumbling and trembling in his haste, and Prompto lets out a soft chuckle.

‘Need me to do that for you?’ she teases.

Her words only seem to have the effect of unleashing a stubborn streak within him, and he moves his hands to her ass, picking her up swiftly and with little effort, turning and transporting her to the bed as though she weighs nothing at all. He promptly deposits her on the bed, where she flops onto her back with a laugh.

‘You know, big guy,’ she says, ‘it’s okay to ask for help.’

She wears a brazen little smirk as her hands go to pick up from where he left off, plucking at the button. With a growl, Gladio takes her wrists and pulls them above her head, pinning them to the bed as he kneels beside her. He’s only holding her with one strong, heavy hand, the other moving down to the button where he pops it open with little trouble.

‘You’re being a brat,’ he says.

Prompto shrugs; makes a little show at fighting against his grip. She could probably break it if she tried — she didn’t become so good at her job without building up some muscle along the way — but the point is she doesn’t _want_ to. It feels good to have him in control.

‘Maybe,’ she replies. ‘But I think you like it.’

To prove her point, she pokes her tongue out at him and Gladiolus rewards her by pressing her wrists down a little harder, his free hand tugging impatiently at her zipper. Once he has it open, he grabs the band of her jeans and yanks downward, by which point she helpfully obliges by lifting her hips to help him.

She's thankful, in retrospect, that she picked out one of her good pairs of panties; the last thing she needs in a heated moment like this is for one of her stretchy, faded pairs with childish print to disrupt the romance. Not that Gladio seems to be paying much attention to her underwear — he has his fingers looped around the fabric at her hip, ready to tug them down, but his eyes are elsewhere.

‘What?’ Prompto asks, twisting to look.

His gaze is trained on her closet — it takes a second for it to click that she has the negligee from Ignis hanging there over the door, all but forgotten about in the heat of everything.

‘Pretty,’ he says, lowering his face to look at her. ‘Why’s it hanging up there when it could be right _here?’_

He illustrates his words by running his fingertips up her side, under her shirt. She shivers, delicately; after a beat, it turns into a resigned sigh.

‘Because,’ she says, ‘I’m not keeping it.’

Gladiolus seems personally affronted. He doesn’t let go of her wrists, but he does sit up a little to level her with a stern glance.

‘And why,’ he says, ‘would you do _that?’_

 _‘Because,’_ she counters, ‘somebody spent way too much on it.’

She realises her slip only after the words are out of her mouth, and she tenses reflexively while she waits for Gladio’s response. He doesn’t flip out, though; if anything, he looks a little impressed.

‘You’re tellin’ me you got a sugar daddy?’ he asks wryly, shooting another look at the lingerie.

‘Why do people keep saying that?’ Prompto groans. _‘No,_ I do not have a sugar daddy. I just… had a date with somebody a little overzealous.’

Gladiolus sits up at this, and instantly she misses the pressure on her wrists. As he climbs off the bed, she rolls onto her front and watches as he moves around the bed toward the closet. He’s careful — she might even call it _reverent_ — as he plucks at the hem of the nightdress; the delicate material seems almost comical in his broad hand.

‘Be a shame,’ he says, lifting the hanger from its perch over the closet door, ‘to let it go to waste.’

She watches with a quirked eyebrow as he brings it over to the bed and holds it up for her. He doesn’t stop until she pushes herself up and takes it from his grasp.

‘I don’t know,’ she says haltingly. ‘It was _really_ pricey.’

Gladiolus shrugs.

‘No reason you can’t try it on, at least.’

Prompto opens her mouth to protest, but she sighs and shuts it again. Between Iris trying to convince her to keep it, her own temptation, and now _Gladiolus_ weighing in on it, it feels like giving in is inevitable.

 _‘Fine,’_ she says. ‘I’ll try it on. But I’m still not keeping it.’

She heads into the bathroom to change — it seems silly to be shy when only moments earlier they’d been on the fastrack to seeing each other naked, anyway, but it’s different when it involves actually _changing_ in front of him. She’s quick enough to swap out of her clothes, and takes a moment to fix her hair and blot on a little lipgloss.

She scrutinises her reflection in the mirror over the sink: takes in her uneven complexion, the scattering of freckles that cling stubbornly to her cheeks, come rain or shine. The negligee is the perfect fit, not hanging on her like she’d expected but draping itself over her body, hugging her breasts and spilling like a waterfall down around her. It hangs open a little at the front, and when she moves it swishes about her hips and parts with the movement.

There were panties included with it — almost obscenely tiny, in pale pink lace — but she didn’t bother to try them on since she’s sending it all back anyway.

She has to admit, though, as she takes the sight of herself in, that she looks pretty amazing. The pink sets off the blonde of her hair, the paleness of her skin; even though her arms and thighs are on display, normally a cause for self-consciousness for her, something about the softness of the chiffon makes her look…

Well, _pretty._

She gives herself one last appraising look in the mirror, then turns to leave.

Gladiolus is stretched out on her bed when she gets back, shoes off and feet crossed at the ankles, where they'd probably easily overshoot the end of the bed if he weren’t propped up at her pillows. He sits bolt upright as soon as she appears in the door, his eyes drinking in the sight of her.

Prompto expects some comically lascivious comment from him, but he’s silent as he rises to his feet and crosses the room, stretching out a hand to take hers.

She lets Gladio spin her around, and even she can’t help but delight in the way the fabric whirls about her, the chiffon glittering in the sunlight streaming through the window.

‘Whoa,’ Gladiolus says, once she comes to a halt.

‘Is that a good thing?’ she asks, teasing. ‘Or…?’

He smirks; grips her by the hips and turns her around, angles her so that she’s facing the mirror.

‘Tell me,’ he says, ‘that you don’t agree you look hot.’

Bashful, Prompto shrugs. When she tries to look away, Gladiolus gently cups her chin and turns her face toward the mirror once more, his other hand coming to sit in the curve of her waist.

‘I think,’ Gladiolus says, pausing to lay a kiss on Prompto’s bare shoulder, ‘that you’re the sexiest thing I’ve ever laid eyes on.’

His kisses lead him on a path across her shoulder and up the side of her neck. She shivers with delight and exhilaration — she has to admit, silently, that she feels pretty damn sexy right now.

‘Okay,’ she says with feigned reluctance. ‘I suppose I could be _persuaded_ to agree.’

Gladiolus chuckles by her ear, his lips warm on her skin.

‘That so?’

He brings his hand down from her chin, tracing his fingertips across her shoulder to slip the strap of the nightdress free. She’s so focused on it — on the sight of his long, dark lashes in his reflection, fluttering slightly in concentration where his eyes are closed — that she almost doesn’t notice the path his other hand takes until suddenly it’s flat on the plane of her stomach, the tips of his fingers dipping under the elastic of her panties.

‘Getting closer,’ she murmurs.

There’s another chuckles from Gladiolus, followed by a soft nip at her earlobe. When she sighs and tips her head to the other side, he moves down to her exposed neck and lets his teeth graze across her skin.

Behind Prompto, pressed flush against her ass, she can feel his erection digging into her. When she pushes back against it, grinding slightly, his hand moves downwards, pushing under the fabric of her panties.

‘How ‘bout now?’ he growls.

She can’t respond as his fingertips brush over her, parting her gently. She shudders, and as he poises his fingers over her, she holds her breath in anticipation of the contact.

She doesn’t think she could endure much more than even this mild teasing — not now, not with the heat of him, the smell of him, the weight of him against her — but she doesn’t have to, thankfully, as he finally dips his finger downward. He gets it slick first, then with a featherlight touch, strokes it upwards until she jolts with pleasure.

Prompto hears Gladio’s breath shudder out, and when she lifts her eyes to look at him in the mirror, his cheeks are hot. He’s not even being touched — not anything worth writing home about — but he seems to be enjoying himself well enough; she rewards him by pressing her ass back against him and moving it slowly against him.

He looks too good, and when her movement drags a low noise of pleasure from him, he _sounds_ too good as well; she doesn’t care about taking it slow any more, and when she twists in his arms, her hand going for the fastenings of his jeans, he seems entirely too willing to move things along.

They get his pants off with little ceremony, Gladio taking over to tug them down his thighs and kick them off once Prompto has them open. He’s in tight-fitting boxer-briefs in grey, sitting low on his hips, but she finds her glance drawn more pertinently downward to the outline of his dick and the profuse damp patch darkening the material.

She all but launches herself at him, stretching up on tiptoes to kiss him as one arm slings around his neck and the other goes for his boxer-briefs, yanking them down to free his cock only to take it into his hand, thumbing over the wet slit. This time, Gladio’s the one who backs up towards the bed and when he bumps the edge of it, he sits down, wrapping his arms around her to pull her down, too.

It’s a testament to strong thighs from years of cycling across the city that when Prompto gets the idea to hop up and sit astride him in one deft move, she succeeds without making a complete fool of herself. She can’t even stop to internally congratulate herself, though, as Gladio’s soon gripping her hips and pulling them down into his own. His cock is hot against her, and when she gives an experimental grind into him she can feel her own wetness between them.

‘Condom,’ Gladio just about manages to purr against her lips — neither of them seem eager to break the kiss for any longer than it takes to catch a breath — and she grips him by the front of his shirt, mouth still colliding with his as she leans toward the night stand.

They’ll be lucky she even has anything vaguely resembling protection in her possession — it’d be too depressing a prospect to try to remember the last time she had need of it — and it feels like winning the lottery when Prompto’s fingers hit the familiar foil wrapper lodged away in the corner of the top drawer.

She breaks away from Gladio just long enough to confirm it’s still in date, then tears at the packaging. Once it’s open, she meets his eye — he gives a nod of confirmation, his hands coming to sit on her thighs while he waits — and tosses the wrapper aside, rolling the sheath down over him.

It’s another check in the win column that it even fits, _barely,_ and she makes a mental note to pick up one of the kingsize brands for next time, if there is one. _Next time_ seems such a distant, abstract concept when the here and now is so compelling.

He moves his hands up to her hips and guides her over him; she slips her hand down and tugs her panties to the side, and a moment later she feels him at her entrance.

Maybe he intends to tease her a little — she’s half-desperate, though, and before she knows it she’s lowering herself onto him and he’s rising to meet her, and as he fills her inch by inch she huffs out a gasp that isn’t quite _pain,_ but a response to the unexpected fullness.

‘Is it—’ Gladio begins, but whatever his question was to be, Prompto cuts it off with a frantic kiss, levering herself down the last of the way onto him.

He grunts with pleasure once she’s down to the hilt of him, and he draws in a sharp breath against her mouth when she lifts herself up, only to slide back down. It’s been a while since she’s had sex of _any_ kind, let alone in anything but missionary, so it takes her a while to work up a rhythm. Thankfully, Gladiolus seems only too happy to help her, and his hands are strong and sure at her hips as he lifts and lowers her in time with her movements.

Prompto slips her arms around Gladio’s neck; buries her face in his hair, in the sweet, manly scent of whatever he washes it with. By her ear she can hear his breath coming out in shuddering gasps and soft grunts of exertion as he works his hips up into hers, and on a whim she pulls back to look at him, her eyes finding his.

There’s a certain intensity in his gaze, and for just a moment her heart aches as she holds his glance. She moves her hand to his jaw — cups it carefully and angles it upwards, lowering her mouth onto his. This kiss is more intense, she thinks, than any of the others — for a little while their thrusts still as their mouths take over, and Prompto’s chest is heaving when she pulls away for air.

‘You wanna move up the bed?’ Gladio asks, with a nod toward the pillows.

Prompto shakes her head.

‘This is good,’ she says. ‘Unless you want—’

‘I’m good,’ Gladiolus interrupts.

He keeps one hand on her hip, the other coming to tangle through her hair. As he picks up his rhythm again he tilts her head a little, mouthing a heated kiss into her lips, then one on her jaw, and another, following along the curve of it until he gets to her neck.

Stubble rasps against her skin; she doesn’t care, barely registers it. She moves her hand down between them, just past the bunched-up fabric of her panties, and gets her fingers slick, sliding them rhythmically over her clit. As it is she could probably get off on Gladio’s cock alone, but she’s impatient and greedy.

He holds out longer than she does — her thrusts start to falter and he picks up for her, guiding her smoothly down onto his length while his teeth graze over her shoulder, and as he sinks his teeth into her skin, sucking a bruise into it, she finds herself tumbling over the edge. She can’t stifle it — and stop the guttural sound that escapes her lips, half-gasp and half-shout, her eyelids fluttering as she tips her head back in pleasure.

She’s still riding it through when he comes, and the biting lets up as he buries his face in the curve of her neck, breath huffing out hot and heavy against her.

When they pull apart, Prompto’s trembling so badly he has to help her climb off and she’s fit to do little more than clamber onto the bed and flop on her side.

‘Jesus,’ she breathes.

Gladiolus is next to her after a moment, the condom safely disposed of, and he lines up alongside her with a hand on her waist beneath the chiffon of her nightdress.

‘Guess that settles it,’ he says wryly, his lips twisting into a sleepy smirk.

Prompto lifts a brow.

‘What’s that?’ she says.

Gladiolus gently picks the material of the negligee up between his thumb and finger, letting it flutter down once more to her skin, whisper-soft.

‘You gotta keep it now.’

Prompto snorts and shoves at him playfully, but she has to admit — he has a point. Drenched in sweat as it is, she doubts Ignis is getting his money back.


	8. The Picnic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Kinktober Day 14 — _Cunnilingus_**
> 
> Thanks to the lovelies at QTS for cheerleading behind the scenes and inspiring me to take this in a fun direction :D

Prompto lifts her head blearily from where it had been resting on Gladiolus’s shoulder. Beside her, his chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm. His mouth hangs open slightly, his breathing heavy in slumber.

She doesn’t know when he must have passed out — doesn’t know when _she_ did — but the _Are you still watching?_ message is up on Netflix and the screen has gone dim.

She yawns and, carefully so she doesn’t disturb Gladio, slips out from under his arm to grab her phone from the table to check the time. She realises, with a soft curse, that it’s after midnight — which means she has six hours before she’s supposed to be up for work.

‘Gladio,’ she murmurs, reaching over to swat at his leg.

When her hand makes contact, his steady breathing cuts off with a snorting sound and he sits up with a jerk, looking around for the source of the disturbance.

‘It’s late,’ Prompto says. ‘I gotta go.’

Gladiolus groans, and it just about sums up her feelings on the matter.

‘I’ll order you an Uber,’ he says, grabbing his phone.

While he brings up the app, Prompto gathers her things — even though she didn’t bring much, between the tiredness and the haphazard condition of Gladio’s living room after their date night together, it winds up taking longer than she’d like. Once she’s done, she pats her pockets and surveys the room, to make sure she’s not forgetting something.

Even though bingeing episodes of _Jessica Jones_ — only to get distracted midway and start fooling around — probably isn’t exactly _romance,_ Prompto’s still sad that the evening has to end.

‘You know, if you tell Iris about us,’ Gladiolus says, standing up to slip his arms around her, hands smoothing through her hair, ‘I could come to _your_ place and you wouldn’t have to hoof it across town so late.’

Prompto snorts.

‘Maybe, but I don’t think she’d be so cool with us getting physical on the sofa.’

He gives her a look, and she knows she’s missing the point. That may be just a little bit intentional.

If he wants to bring up the subject of telling his sister, he leaves it for the time being; with a sigh, he presses a kiss to Prompto’s forehead and pulls away, grabbing his soda from the coffee table to drain the last of it.

She knows she’ll have to talk to Iris at some point — it’s not a matter of _if,_ but _when._ It’s only more daunting, though, now that she and Gladio have actually slept together. She knows, logically, that waiting longer will only make things worse, but it’s still not enough to give her the push she needs to actually come clean.

‘I feel like we missed most of what happened,’ she says with a sheepish grin, gesturing to the screen as Gladiolus closes out of the Netflix app. ‘I dunno how long we were out.’

‘It’s fine,’ Gladio says with a shrug. ‘Gives us an excuse to watch it again.’

‘You mean _fool around_ again,’ Prompto counters, and Gladiolus laughs in agreement.

He walks her down to the curb when her car shows up; lingers with her a good long while, kissing her goodbye even as the driver impatiently waits. It’s only once Prompto’s pretty sure the burly, tattooed dude with a topknot is sick of their PDA that she gently pushes Gladio away with a grin.

‘See you later, Romeo,’ she murmurs, leaning over to give him one last kiss.

He stands and watches as the car pulls away. When she glances out the back he’s keeping an eye on her, and when their eyes meet through the rear windshield, he waves.

He’s still watching as the car rounds the corner; seeing him vanish past the building at the end of the block twists at something in Prompto’s chest, small and indefinable.

* * *

She opens the door to a particularly stern Iris waiting inside. It’s only then — as she sees her friend’s face, her hands on her hips — that Prompto realises she forgot to send the perfunctory ‘don’t worry, I’m not dead’ message to let Iris know she was safe.

It’s easy to forget Iris doesn’t know that Prompto’s with Gladio; that she’s probably the safest she’ll ever be, in his company.

‘Girl code one-oh-one,’ Iris says, still staring disapprovingly at Prompto as she walks in. ‘What do we do when we’re out late on a date?’

Prompto sighs. It’s the teacher routine again, and she hates being on the receiving end of it more than anything else in the world.

‘Always check in,’ Prompto says, as though reciting from memory, ‘and send an update when we’re on our way home.’

‘Right,’ Iris says, with the same sort of vigour she’d use to address a classroom full of small children. ‘And what did we not do?’

It’s difficult not to heave a petulant sigh, but Prompto knows that fighting it will only get her into more trouble.

Dully, slipping her jacket off her shoulders, she says: ‘That.’

Now that her admonishment is over, Iris seems to take on a more cheery demeanour, perking up brightly. She claps her hands together and looks at Prompto expectantly.

‘Did you have another date with _Ignis?’_

Prompto tenses; she’d been heading for the door to her room, but she freezes mid-step. She’s _really_ got to figure out some sort of alibi if she’s going to keep sneaking around with Gladiolus.

‘Uh, no,’ she says, scratching awkwardly at the loose strands of hair at her neck. ‘It was just Netflix with a friend.’

‘A _friend,_ huh?’ Iris presses.

Prompto nods and regards Iris with a shrug.

‘Yup.’

She knows she’s not fooling anybody when Iris’s eyes narrow and her hands move back to their earlier spot on her hips.

Prompto bites back a groan in anticipation of the lecture she’s going to receive; it’s too late for this, and she wants nothing better than to crawl into bed and _sleep._

‘It’s just a friend, Iris,’ Prompto insists. ‘Seriously.’

One of Iris’s eyebrows rises incredulously.

‘Must be a pretty good friend,’ she says, ‘if you’re letting them leave hickeys all over you.’

Reflexively, Prompto slaps a hand to her shoulder — the marks had been relatively hidden behind the collar of her jacket, but now that she’s just in her tee she’s acutely aware of them scattered across her skin. In hindsight, she probably should’ve stopped Gladio when he’d started to work his way up from her shoulders, but it’d felt too good.

She only hopes she has enough concealer to hide the evidence before she heads for work tomorrow.

‘Oh,’ she says.

Iris nods smugly.

 _‘Oh,’_ she agrees. ‘So you gonna tell me about him already? The anticipation’s killing me.’

Alarm sets heat prickling to the surface of Prompto’s skin — dread that this might be the moment she breaks her friendship with Iris forever. She might not be able to keep putting it off, but maybe one in the morning on a weeknight isn’t the best time to have a heart-to-heart about sleeping with Iris’s big brother.

‘I’ll tell you,’ she says, nodding her head resolutely. ‘Soon. I just… wanna make sure it’s something first. But then I promise I’ll tell you.’

It’s as much to hold herself accountable as to reassure Iris; her friend, at least, seems convinced for the moment.

‘Okay,’ Iris says. ‘I expect you to tell me _everything,_ though.’

Guiltily, Prompto nods. She doubts Iris would still want to hear _everything_ if she knew Gladio was the man in question.

Prompto’s at her bedroom door, hand on the knob, when Iris pipes up again.

‘You gonna call him back, by the way?’

Confusion fogs Prompto’s brain. She _seriously_ needs some sleep, but Iris seems to have other ideas. She pauses, turning around, and looks at Iris with a furrowed brow.

‘Call _who_ back?’

 _‘Ignis!’_ Iris blurts, as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world. ‘The note he left with the fancy lingerie? You gonna go on that date?’

If Prompto knows Iris at all — and she likes to think, after having been friends for most of their adult life, that she knows her pretty well — her roommate isn’t going to back down any time soon. It’s not even as though Prompto’s been avoiding Ignis, it’s just that she’s been so swept up with _Gladio_ that she’s barely had time to even think about the other suitor in her life.

‘I don’t know…’ Prompto says. ‘We had fun, sure, but isn’t it a little… weird, seeing two guys at once?’

‘I thought you were a modern woman, Prompto Argentum,’ Iris says sternly, with a disapproving shake of her head. ‘It’s not like you’re _cheating._ You haven’t talked about being exclusive with this guy, have you?’

Prompto considers it, momentarily caught out. Iris has a point — she’s only been seeing Gladiolus for a little while, and she’s barely known him longer than that. When the subject of Ignis had come up, however fleetingly it might have been, he hadn’t seemed upset by the prospect of Prompto going on dates with someone else.

‘No,’ she agrees.

Iris nods eagerly.

‘Exactly,’ she says. ‘And you had a good time with Ignis, didn’t you?’

Prompto doesn’t even have to consider this one. She can still remember whiling away the hours with him at the coffee shop, and how easily the conversation had come between them. Even that kiss outside the apartment building, innocent as it had been, had left her feeling giddy.

‘I mean,’ she says, ‘I _did,_ but—’

‘So what’s the problem?’ Iris protests, all but pouting. ‘You have _two_ guys who wanna get in your pants. You can’t afford to mess this up.’

Iris’s bluntness startles a laugh out of Prompto, and Iris chases it up with her own girlish giggle, the sweet sound somehow contradicting the candour of her words. It’s not even like Prompto can be offended; Iris is probably the only person who knows just as well as Prompto does the extent of the drought she’s been going through.

‘Ughhhh,’ she groans, throwing her hand up. _‘Fine._ But you have _got_ to stop meddling in my love life.’

Iris shrugs, her face affecting an expression of perfect innocence, as though butter wouldn’t even melt in her mouth.

‘What can I say?’ she replies. ‘Some people just need a little help.’

* * *

Iris’s _help_ is seemingly boundless, and she’s all too willing to offer it.

Prompto’s second date with Ignis sees her in a borrowed floral dress. This time, at least, Iris doesn’t take her through the laborious process of styling her hair — Prompto wears it loose, with a little product worked through the curls to keep it tamed.

Ignis had been vague about the details of their date, although it’s in the middle of the day on Saturday, and he told Prompto to wear sensible shoes and bring a warm sweater just in case. She doesn’t even know _where_ the venue is, as he sent a car for her; she spends the ride looking around her plush surroundings in the back seat, only to realise it’s the same car that she collided with on the day she first met Ignis. She’d recognise the interior anywhere.

The driver is friendly, at least — maybe a little _too_ friendly at times, with a New York City accent that’s just this side of grating — and they share a little chatter as he takes her through the city. He remembers her from the accident; she’s not sure whether to be flattered or embarrassed.

They’re talking about the city’s woeful traffic when he gets a phone call over his earpiece and politely excuses himself.

‘Yessir?’

It must be Ignis.

‘Right on schedule, sir.’

The driver goes silent for a moment as he listens to the other end of the line; in the rearview mirror, Prompto sees his brow furrow slightly.

‘You sure, sir? That’ll add maybe thirty minutes to the drive.’

Whatever Ignis’s response, the driver gives a shrug. They share a little more back and forth, then the driver hangs up.

‘All right,’ he says, catching Prompto’s eye in the mirror. ‘Boss’s running behind. He says we can head out as planned, or I can take a detour and bring you along the scenic route and kill some time. Lady’s choice.’

Prompto picks her phone up from her lap and checks the time. It’s around noon; even with Ignis running late, they still have plenty of time to make the most of the day and the clear, dry weather. Besides — she’s intrigued by this talk of a _scenic route;_ she’s not so sure she’d call any part of Insomnia’s neatly planned blocks particularly scenic.

‘Go for broke,’ she says, shrugging. ‘I’ve got nowhere else to be.’

Prompto pays considerably more heed to the journey now, her curiosity piqued. She watches as the driver takes a turn off at an intersection and realises she has absolutely no idea where they’re going. Even though she’s lived in Insomnia for a few years now, there are still parts of the city she doesn’t know too well — and their itinerary seems to be taking them out of the city proper, anyway.

She stares out of the window as the buildings eventually become less crammed in, and the urban streets turn to broader roads. She knows they’re headed in the direction of the lakes, but beyond that she’s struggling to get her bearings.

‘You get out of the city much?’ the driver asks. He’s looking in the mirror again, shrewd eyes watching her as he waits for her response.

Prompto shakes her head.

‘Not for a while,’ she says. ‘Kinda curious what Ignis has planned.’

The driver moves one hand from the wheel only long enough to tap a finger to his nose.

‘You’ll see,’ he says with a knowing smile.

They go over the crest of a hill, and suddenly the biggest lake comes into view in all its splendour. The water seems to span out as far as the eye can see, the land on the far banks a distant smudge of green and grey on the horizon. It’s an arresting vista — and Prompto finds herself glad that Ignis suggested they take the detour out this way.

She’s no closer to figuring out where they’re going as they take the road alongside the water, and for a little while Prompto’s distracted from her curiosity as she looks out at the view.

They turn off from the lake eventually, taking a road which inclines steadily uphill. Prompto can see the city’s wind farm rearing over the landscape, the great metal shapes of the turbines almost intimidating in their scale.

‘Almost there,’ the driver says elusively.

In the mirror, he catches her eye for just a moment and there’s a little bit of a mischievous sparkle to them before he looks away.

Prompto starts to figure it out when she sees the woodlands come into view. They’re quite a contrast to the built-up urban area of the city, and it’s easy to forget there’s such a huge source of undespoiled nature so close by when surrounded by skyscrapers and gridlock. So Ignis is bringing her there, it seems — it definitely makes for a change of pace from a typical date.

Her suspicions are confirmed when the car takes a turn onto a smaller trail marked with signs for a nature walk. It’s a long and winding road which brings them steadily uphill, plunging them through alternating darkness in the dense tree cover, and dazzling sunlight wherever there are gaps in the canopy.

There’s only one other car parked when they get to the top, where the road ends and the nature trail takes over.

‘Looks like he got here before us,’ the driver says.

When he pulls up alongside the car — it’s a sleek, fast-looking thing with a matte black paint job — the driver’s side door pops open and a pair of long, slim legs step out.

Prompto feels a little rush as Ignis comes into view, bit by bit. He’s dressed a lot more casually than Prompto’s accustomed to seeing him, in grey jeans and a knit sweater with the sleeves turned up neatly at his forearms.

Prompto takes a moment to gather up her things — her jacket, her scarf and her purse — and moves to open the door, but Ignis is there before she gets the chance, popping the door open for her.

As gracefully as she can, she swings her legs out of the car, setting boot-clad feet down on the grit underfoot. Before she’s all the way out she stops and leans over toward the front seat, by where the driver sits.

‘I’m sorry,’ she says. ‘I never got your name.’

He twists around in his seat, extending a hand through the gap for her to shake.

‘Dino,’ he says. ‘Pleasure’s all mine.’

He doesn’t hang around once Prompto’s out, pulling skillfully out of the parking spot and swivelling the car onto the road in one smooth manoeuvre.

‘I hope the drive was all right,’ Ignis says, his lips brushing Prompto’s cheek as he greets her. ‘Dino’s rather fond of talking people’s ear off.’

‘He’s nice,’ Prompto says. ‘That accent, though, huh?’

Ignis gives a soft laugh of agreement.

‘Shall we go?’ he asks. ‘We’ve a bit of a walk, but I promise it’s worth it.’

He grabs a wicker basket out of the back of his car before they go, and once the car’s all locked up he gestures for Prompto to follow.

He’s true to his word — they have to follow the trail for maybe ten minutes before the path eventually opens out onto the lakeshore. The sight of it is arresting; here, secluded away within the trees, it’s easy to forget there’s a sprawling city of glass and steel just a handful of miles away.

‘Picnic by the lake, huh?’ Prompto says with a grin. ‘You weren’t kidding when you said it’d be worth it.’

‘There’s more,’ Ignis replies. ‘If you’ll follow me.’

He takes her hand here; clasping it gently he leads her along the shore for another five minutes or so, chiming in only to tell her to watch her step from time to time. They’re quiet as they go, as though afraid to disturb the stillness of the day, the only sounds the crunching of their shoes along the shore and the twittering of the birds in the trees.

Ignis leads her to a small pier, at which a rowboat is moored, and Prompto looks at him with wide eyes.

‘Are we…?’

With a devious smile, Ignis nods.

‘Not quite Bois de Boulogne, perhaps,’ he says, ‘but Insomnia has its own charm.’

He sets the basket in the boat first, then carefully helps Prompto in. The boat’s secured to the pier with a lock, which he opens before pushing off and picking up the paddles. He rows with little difficulty, and Prompto can’t help but wonder if he conceals a more durable physique than his tailored appearance might suggest.

‘Have you been here before?’ Prompto asks, looking about the lake as they steadily move farther from the shore.

‘On occasion,’ Ignis says. He huffs out a slight breath with each stroke of the oars, the only sign of exertion he betrays. ‘I like to scout out shooting locations for the magazine myself, if I can help it. We didn’t wind up using it in the end, but in a way I’m glad — it’s quite a well-kept secret.’

Prompto can attest to that — she barely even knew the lakes out here were accessible to the public, let alone that you could boat on them. Something about being here with Ignis and having the whole place to themselves makes her skin prickle pleasantly. It’s almost like they’re the only people in the world.

‘I’ll admit it,’ she says with a contented sigh. ‘As dates go, this is pretty romantic.’

Ignis doesn’t respond, but there’s a quiet smile on his lips as he continues to row.

He slows eventually, drawing completely to a halt once they get to the centre of the water. There doesn’t seem to be any current to speak of, so they remain in place on the water, floating tranquilly far from the shore.

Ignis leans over to the basket and pops it open; from it he withdraws two glasses and a bottle of cloudy lemonade in a fancy bottle with a French label on the front.

‘I may have brought too much food,’ he says as he pours a glass and hands it to Prompto. ‘I wasn’t sure what you’d like, so I brought a bit of everything.’

He’s not kidding: there are sandwiches, salads, hot dishes — even a handful of desserts. It all looks delicious and decidedly _gourmet._ Prompto sets her sights on slices of thick-crusted brown bread and a pot of egg mayonnaise, digging in while Ignis opts for a croissant.

‘S’no such thing as too much food,’ Prompto says, entirely forgetting her manners as she speaks through a mouthful.

Ignis laughs and raises his glass in a mock toast.

It’s beyond peaceful out here, with the distant sounds of birds by the shore and the soft lapping of the water against the boat. Once Prompto’s finished her first serving, she takes a moment to sit back and enjoy the scenery, looking up at the clear blue sky dotted with fluffy clouds overhead.

‘I take it you decided to keep my gift,’ Ignis says after a while. ‘I was rather surprised when you didn’t bring it to me during the week.’

The mere mention of his impromptu present puts Gladiolus in Prompto’s thoughts, which inevitably sets her mind down the path of that night they spent together. Ignis might have given his blessing for her to wear the lingerie with someone else, but the reality of it feels a little weird now that they’re together in the flesh.

With heat-tinged cheeks, she falls silent and becomes suddenly preoccupied with hunting through the basket for something else to eat.

‘Ah,’ Ignis says. ‘So you put it to good use, then.’

Prompto expects, as she lifts her head ruefully to look up at Ignis, to find him looking at her with disappointment. When their eyes meet, however, one of his brows is raised with curious interest, and his lips are curved into a subtle smirk.

‘I hope the fit was all right,’ he adds. ‘I would have asked for your size, but I didn’t want to spoil the surprise.’

Prompto tries not to think of herself in the nightdress, leaning against Gladio in front of the mirror while his hands had roved over her.

‘Yep,’ she says, a little too loud. ‘It was perfect.’

Ignis nods thoughtfully and takes a sip of his lemonade, savouring it for a moment.

‘You really shouldn’t have, y’know,’ Prompto scolds. _‘Three hundred bucks._ That’s rent for some people.’

‘Not in this city,’ Ignis says with a scoff, and Prompto can’t help letting out a burst of laughter.

She wonders if money really means so little to him, this man who wears a different outfit every day at work, each as impeccably tailored as the last; who has a driver and a sleek car to be chauffeured around in, and a sexy little black coupé for when he feels like driving himself. Prompto’s overdraft doesn’t even stretch to two-fifty, and she’s lucky if she has more than an even hundred left over at the end of the month.

Still, there’s something paradoxically down-to-earth about him — he doesn’t seem to care that she doesn’t come from money, or that she doesn’t know anything about fashion. And even though he’s accustomed to a certain lifestyle, he doesn’t flaunt it.

He’s different from Gladio, sure — but not necessarily in a bad way.

‘Are you in the habit of buying expensive gifts for all your girls?’ Prompto teases.

Ignis smirks over the brim of his glass as he moves to take another sip.

‘Only the charming ones.’

A slight breeze stirs across the lake, sending ripples through the surface of the water. Insomnia’s already starting to warm up as the spring wears on, but Prompto finds herself shivering as the cool air plays across the back of her neck and cuts at her bare legs.

Ignis shifts — the boat moves a little under his weight — and leans over to the picnic basket. From it, he withdraws a tartan blanket, which he opens out and carefully spreads across Prompto’s lap.

‘Better?’ he asks.

He’s close enough for her to smell his cologne again and it’s quite arresting to have him there, his green eyes staring intently into her own.

All she can do is nod, wetting her lips and watching as he pulls away and settles himself back into his own seat.

‘It’s so beautiful out here,’ she says hurriedly, if only to distract from the intensity of the moment. ‘I kinda wish I brought my camera.’

‘It _is_ rather breathtaking,’ Ignis agrees. He moves, returning to his seat once more. ‘Although I imagine it would be a shame to drop it into the water.’

‘I’d say I’m not that clumsy,’ Prompto says, ‘but I don’t want to insult your intelligence by lying.’

It wasn’t _entirely_ intended as a joke, but it still gives her a rush of pleasure when Ignis bursts into laughter. She likes the way it makes his whole face light up — the way it makes his nose crinkle is particularly endearing. She wonders if he gets much of a chance to smile in his day job, hectic and high-stress as it must be.

‘I was going to offer bringing you here again so you could bring your camera,’ Ignis says, shaking his head in amusement. ‘Perhaps I should reconsider.’

Prompto gives a lighthearted shrug. She looks down at the glass in her hand, swirling the liquid around in it before taking a sip.

‘Maybe bringing it wouldn’t be such a good idea,’ she says, ‘but who says you can’t bring me back here sometime?’

She’s being a little bolder than she usually might, a little more teasing and suggestive. As intimidating as Ignis might be, he seems to bring that side out in her.

‘I’ll hold you to that, Prompto,’ he says, inclining his glass towards her; she lifts her own and clinks the brim of it against his with a soft ringing sound.

‘I forgot to mention, I finally had the chance to visit your Instagram,’ he adds. ‘Your work really is remarkable. Have you tried submitting it anywhere?’

Prompto gives him a suspicious glance as she tries to size up whether he’s just being polite, but he’s looking at her with genuine interest. She can’t imagine somebody surrounded by talented photographers all week would be in any way impressed with her hobbyist skill level, and yet Ignis doesn’t seem the type to coddle egos for the sake of it.

‘I used to try, back in college,’ she says. She gives a self-effacing shrug; shrinks down a little under the weight of the blanket across her lap. ‘I almost made it into the student paper one time! But… they went with somebody else in the end.’

Is it pity, on Ignis’s face, as he nods in acknowledgement? Maybe he really _was_ just being polite.

‘Well,’ he says briskly. ‘I think there could be a career in it for you, if you wanted. A crash course in editing, perhaps, and you could be as good as any of the photographers we feature at _Moda.’_

Now Prompto’s _convinced_ he’s just being nice. She’s all right at photography, sure, but she’s nothing special; the kind of talent she sees in print makes her stuff look like a kid snapping shots with a disposable camera.

‘I don’t know,’ she replies. ‘I mean, it’d be a dream come true to make something of it someday, but I kinda grew out of those illusions years ago.’

She expects Ignis to drop it — but her words only seem to light a fire under him.

‘I hate to flaunt my connections,’ he says, ‘but I have an associate in travel journalism who I’m sure would be willing to offer some pointers. I can give him your details, if you’d like?’

Prompto’s taken aback, and her first instinct is to politely refuse. She finds herself nodding eagerly, however, in spite of that voice of hesitance in her head.

Ignis takes his phone out and makes a note in it; once his phone is away, he settles his glance on her again.

‘So how is this shaping up in comparison to your dream date so far?’ he asks.

Prompto puts on a thoughtful expression and taps her pointer finger to her lip, looking skyward. It seems that the stars have aligned to make today perfect for their plans — glorious blue skies, no rain in sight, and as far as she can tell they’re the only people for miles.

‘Pretty good,’ she says casually. ‘A picnic hidden away right outside the city limits… Gotta admit, it’s pretty inspired. You keep this up, you _might_ just wind up sweeping me off my feet.’

Ignis might shrug as though unmoved, but Prompto can see the faint tinge in his cheeks and the glint of pleasure in his eyes.

They talk about their jobs; about Ignis’s upbringing in London and Prompto’s in Kansas; they even get onto the topic of their favourite TV shows, although Prompto’s hardly surprised when Ignis hasn’t heard of _The Vampire Diaries,_ and she shies from explaining the love triangle at the heart of the plot to him.

It feels like barely any time has passed at all, but soon the food supplies are considerably depleted and the lemonade bottle is empty. While Prompto tidies their leftovers, Ignis picks up the oars and paddles them along the lake, taking up a slow and steady pace.

‘Do you have plans for the rest of the day?’ Ignis asks. ‘Or might I steal you for a little while longer?’

Prompto checks her phone and realises it’s the first time she’s even glanced at it for the duration of their date; they’ve been out on the water for an hour and a half, and she’d be surprised if she hadn’t been having such a good time.

‘I think you’ve earned a couple hours,’ she teases. ‘What’d you have in mind?’

Ignis is silent for a moment as he steers the boat, mindful of a thatch of rushes at the edge where the lake narrows. They’re not headed back to shore, but farther along the water.

‘There’s a nature trail along the lakes,’ he says, ‘if you’re interested. It’s not particularly strenuous, although I dare say you’re more than able for it in any case.’

‘Sounds good,’ Prompto says eagerly. She lifts up a leg from under the tartan blanket covering her, showing off her boot. ‘Got my _sensible shoes,_ as requested.’

Ignis brings them farther along the river until a cabin comes into view by the water’s edge, with a sign just outside it emblazoned with the words  _Star of_ _Lucis National Park Visitor Centre._ Ignis pulls up at the pier outside where there are a handful of other boats of varying shapes and sizes moored, and once the boat’s secured in place, he dutifully helps Prompto get to her feet and climb onto solid ground.

He drops the keys for the boat off with a friendly, portly woman with bright ginger curls and a southern drawl; she gives Ignis a map when requested, agrees to hang onto the picnic basket until Ignis can return to collect it, and wishes them a safe trek.

‘So how long _is_ this trail, anyway?’ Prompto asks once they’re outside.

Ignis already has the map open. He holds it out for her and traces the route from its start, out along the lakes and off into the woodlands of the national park in the uncultivated wilds to the west of Insomnia.

‘We’re here,’ he says, tapping a spot at the edge of one of many blue expanses depicted on the map. ‘I thought we might follow the lakes and save the more… arduous trails for another day.’

Prompto leans over the map and takes a little while to study it; she’s not even sure the entirety of the trail could be followed in a single day. She understands the need for practical footwear now, although she wonders if maybe a dress hadn’t been the best choice.

‘Sounds good,’ she says, nevertheless. ‘Lead the way!’

* * *

They take the novice route, and there hasn’t been any rain recently to churn up the trail, so it’s easy-going for the most part. Wherever there’s an obstacle to surpass — a fallen branch, a marshy patch of ground, craggy rocks — Ignis gallantly offers Prompto his hand. When he starts to reach out to help her where she’d have no problem making it through on her own steam, Prompto begins to suspect he’s just using it as an excuse to hold her hand.

She’s not so sure she minds.

It’s probably the most time she’s spent in nature in months — longer, she’d wager — and even though all the fresh air and physical exertion is a stark contrast from her typical Saturday afternoon, she’s grateful for the experience. Whenever she thinks she’s as impressed as she’ll ever be, they round a hill and find themselves faced with an even more breathtaking view than the last.

‘Shall we stop for a bit before we turn back?’ Ignis asks. ‘This seems like a lovely spot to rest.’

He’s right, Prompto thinks, as she surveys the scene while he spreads the blanket out on a flat patch of ground. They’re right by the banks of the river linking each of the lakes, and when Prompto takes her seat she can hear the water lapping peacefully against the shore a few feet away. They drink bottled water brought from the picnic basket, and Prompto leans back on the blanket, resting her weight on her hands and turning her face toward the sun.

They don’t speak for a while; it’s a pleasant sort of tranquility, and Prompto closes her eyes to soak in the warmth.

A gentle touch on the cheek stirs her. Her eyelids flutter open, and she finds Ignis’s hand outstretched, his eyes intense as he watches her. A feeling of enormity — of _something_ about to happen — washes over Prompto. She wets her lips and meets his eye, and as he moves nearer, her heart only seems to race all the faster as he closes the distance between them.

An eternity seems to pass in the moments before their lips meet — plenty of time for Prompto to prepare herself — and yet the contact between them, when it finally comes, chases the breath from her. It doesn’t seem fair, somehow, that it can be like this with him; that somehow, in spite of her best efforts not to get too attached for Gladio’s sake, there can be such a _spark_ between them.

That spark is there this time, inevitably, crackling through Prompto as Ignis brushes his thumb over her cheek. He uses his hand to carefully angle her face, and as the kiss endures it seems to shift: to deepen, to grow hungrier. Each time they break apart for air, their lips only crash together all the more fervently.

There’s an ache in Prompto’s chest; her hands tremble as she brings them up to clutch at the front of Ignis’s sweater. It seems that in the blink of an eye, Ignis is scooping her up, laying her onto her back and leaning over her, his glasses coming askew in his haste.

Prompto giggles; reaches up and plucks his glasses from his face, folding them and gently setting them aside.

Without the lenses to obscure Ignis’s eyes, the colour of them stands out in the sunlight — mint green, almost, and very much trained on _her._ His cheeks are flushed, his lips even more so, and as she lifts her hand to his face to drag her thumb across his lust-swollen bottom lip, he closes his eyes in pleasure.

It doesn’t much seem like resting is on the cards any more, Prompto thinks, and she takes a little perverse enjoyment from slipping her hand up into his hair, greedy fingers dislodging it from its meticulous style.

Ignis opens his eyes, his glance burning into her again; he leans close and presses his mouth to hers once more. She feels his hand come to rest on her thigh, feels it smooth slowly upwards and beneath the hem of her dress, and the contact draws a shiver of pleasure from her.

He moves down then, his mouth lavishing kisses down her jaw, down her neck. When he gets as far as her cleavage, his fingers go to the buttons up the front of her dress and his eyes find her, seeking permission with his glance.

She’s shaking as she nods. She keeps her fingers laced through his hair, tugging gently on the glossy strands as he moves downwards and unbuttons her dress in turn. He leaves a trail of kisses as he goes, lips moving with a featherlight touch across Prompto’s collarbone and then farther down. When he gets to her bra, he mouths over her nipple where it protrudes through the fabric of her bra.

She gives a wanton little moan, unashamed — they’re the only people around, and right now she frankly wouldn’t care if an entire group of tourists happened to stroll by snapping shots of the scenery and their little tryst alike.

Down, down he goes, kissing his path onwards. As soon as he gets to her abdomen, the teasing brush of his lips prompts her to buck her hips upwards involuntarily; she hears a hoarse chuckle from him and when she looks down at him he’s poised between her legs, a hand pushing her thigh gently to the side as he gives her the most intense bedroom eyes she’s ever seen.

‘Don’t stop,’ she pleads, breathless.

His lips are twisted into an arrogant, sexy smirk and she’d love nothing more than to wipe it off his face with a kiss.

‘Don’t worry,’ he says. ‘I wasn’t planning on it.’

He might not have been, but that doesn’t mean he’s above moving tauntingly slow as he hooks his fingers under the band of her panties and eases them down her thighs. As if it’ll somehow speed him along, Prompto lifts her hips up towards him — it only seems to make him go _more_ slowly out of spite.

He slides her panties down her legs, kissing her skin in the wake of them, and only pulls away when he gets to her feet, carefully slipping them free without touching her boots. She’d joke that he seems to be pretty experienced at that manoeuvre, but she’s suddenly aware that she’s laid out in front of him, dress hanging open and not a scrap of clothing south of her navel to preserve her modesty.

At first she’s shy; self-conscious. It’s something new to be laid out bare in front of someone — a relative stranger, and one who’s drop-dead gorgeous to boot — and she finds herself pressing her thighs together out of some unconscious urge to hide herself, chewing her lip as she does so.

‘Now I wish _I_ had a camera,’ Ignis purrs, running a fingertip up her thigh. ‘So I could capture you looking as you do right now.’

Prompto hadn’t meant for it to be sexy, but once she sees the effect it has on him — his eyes drink her in hungrily, his pants tenting just enough to be obvious — she plays it up. She tilts her head down and looks up at him through her eyelashes, moves her hand to her other thigh and traces her fingers up the inside of it, revealing a little of herself as she goes.

Ignis makes a sound, half-feral, and next Prompto knows he’s gripping her thighs and easing them apart before moving to lie between them.

His breath comes out hot against her skin, and even that sensation is enough to drive her wild. She tangles her fingers through his hair once more and urges him closer, and finally — _finally_ — he moves in, his tongue dipping into the wetness between her legs.

The groan she gives is more than a little obscene, but far be it from her to be bashful about it now that they’ve come this far. At the very least, the sound seems to spur him on, and she feels his tongue make slow, teasing circles of her clit, making her toes curl in her boots.

He’s well-practiced, she’d wager; he responds to every quiver, every little sound of pleasure, shifting his pace and technique accordingly. When she knots her fingers tighter through his hair, he delves his tongue downwards and dips it inside her, prompting a gasp from her lips that’s so needy she almost doesn’t recognise it.

She’s been on the receiving end of this before, a handful of times — with that first boyfriend, the one who broke her heart, she’d always had to take over with her own hand when it had started to hurt. With Ignis, there’s no fear of discomfort as he seems to know what she wants even better than _she_ does, and something about his deft tongue brings a memory partially to mind, just out of her reach.

He’s pushing her thighs apart now, spreading her wide and supporting one of her legs with his hand; as he moves his tongue back up to her clit, she feels the fingers of his other hand tease around her entrance and slip within. When she tightens reflexively around them, he gives an appreciative moan against her clit, the rumble of his voice vibrating into her. His lips close around her clit then and he sucks slightly, drawing it into his mouth where he laves over it with his tongue.

She’s so close to coming undone, so close to losing her head completely; that half-memory keeps nagging at her thoughts but every time she tries to grasp onto it, it drifts away from her on the crest of a wave of pleasure.

His fingers are moving rhythmically within her, in time with the moving of his mouth and tongue. She can already feel her body tensing in anticipation of the inevitable, and she’s in two minds about delaying it to make the most of the _now_ and begging him to hurry up and bring her over the edge.

She does neither, but Ignis already seems aware of the proximity of her climax as he adjusts his pace in turn. His mouth makes impure, slick sounds as it moves over her, and the noise — coupled with the huffing of his breath against her — only winds her up all the more. She lets the animal side of her take over and tugs at his hair, urging him on, and between the writhing of her hips and the expert motion of Ignis’s tongue she finds herself spooling up and rushing to the edge and—

She crashes over it with an unbridled moan, all breathy and high-pitched and _girlish,_ and when she finally stops twitching and whimpering she looks down at Ignis to find him watching her with heavy-lidded eyes and an expression of supreme lust.

Even though Prompto’s legs have gone all gooey, she’s quick enough to let go of his hair and try to wriggle down to repay the favour. He catches her by the hip, however, and shakes his head, moving languidly up to kiss her; she can taste herself on his tongue and it’s enough to send another surge of arousal through her.

'We should get back,’ he says as he pulls away. 'Although I'm loath to leave when I have you all to myself.’

‘So keep me here,’ Prompto suggests, tugging gently at his sweater. ‘Let me take care of you.’

There’s something like conflict in Ignis’s expression. She knows, from the almost painful bulge of his erection within his pants, that he’s as worked up as she had been. It probably wouldn’t take nearly as much of a show to get him off, although she’s sure she could drag it out a little to tease him.

For whatever reason, though, he shakes his head. He moves away and straightens out his clothes, and she sits up with a childish pout.

‘I’ll have my turn,’ Ignis says. ‘Next time.’

Prompto snorts. She gives him a look as she sets to work buttoning up her dress again.

‘What makes you so sure there’ll be a next time?’

Ignis gives a devilish smile.

‘What makes you think there won’t?’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to take a minute to thank everybody for all the wonderful comments. I've been the suck at replying lately (I bit off a little more than I could chew with this fic, especially with a newborn to look after, so all my decidedly limited free time has been spent trying to get updates written on time) but I assure you all that I read every comment I get and they've meant the world to me.
> 
> I've had a lot of self-doubt lately — both with this fic, and with suddenly being responsible for a tiny human again — and the supportive comments have really helped nip that in the bud.


	9. The Sleepover

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Kinktober Day 15 — _Intercrural Sex_**

Iris almost had a fit when she found out that Prompto had been about to throw the nightdress from Hartmanns into the machine in the laundry room of their building; she’d virtually snatched the garment out of Prompto’s hands, a wounded look in her eyes, and made Prompto swear that she would take it to a professional cleaner.

‘Seems like a lot of trouble for underwear,’ Prompto had said.

Iris had only shaken her head in disappointment.

With the negligee safely cleaned — and with Prompto’s bank account down fifty bucks for the privilege — she had hung it up in her closet at the far end with all of her nicer clothes, and every time she opens the closet to grab something now she can see the pale pink fabric peeking out, as though it’s calling to her.

It’s tempting to whip it out again with Gladio, and even _more_ tempting to take it for a spin with Ignis, but she doesn’t get the chance for either. Gladiolus’s job has him working back to back shifts, and Ignis begs off with the excuse that he’s away on official business for the next couple weeks.

Prompto decides, as she takes the negligee out to admire it one night, that it’s a little unfair. She has two guys giving her mindblowing sex, and _neither_ of them are available when she needs them.

Maybe it’s a little petty, but she figures if she can’t see either of them, she might as well still have her fun. She takes a moment to quickly put on some makeup, pulls her hair up, and slips into the negligee.

It takes a little artful arranging to get into what she thinks might be an appealing pose on the bed. When she’s ready, she lifts her phone up above her and snaps a few shots from different angles. She rejects the first few — after the disastrous second one, she almost gives up on her plan entirely — and finally finds one that she likes.

On the _Send to Contact_ screen, she hesitates. She’s sure she can expect a good reaction from either of them, whoever she might send it to, but choosing _who_ is the problem. Ignis still hasn’t seen her in the negligee, and after their eventful day out at the weekend, she’s sure he’d appreciate it. Gladio, however, _has_ seen her wearing it — and he made no secret about liking it.

After some long deliberation, she selects both their names and hits Send.

Gladiolus is the first to respond, and she has to laugh at his blunt but very much predictable response.

_\- damn, prom. good thing i’m not driving._

She bites her lip as she types up a response; tries to imagine what she’d say — or do — if he were here, instead of at work.

_\- you like? shame you’re not here to enjoy it :(_

_\- you’re a goddamn tease_  
_\- i finish up in an hour, meet you after?_

_\- you sure you don’t wanna catch some shut eye?_

_\- you think i’m getting any sleep after seeing THAT?_

Prompto grins. She’d expected a reaction, but not one quite so eager. She glances at the time in the corner of her phone screen — 8:58. If she takes Gladio up on his offer, it’ll be after ten by the time she gets to his place; it won’t leave much time to actually _do_ anything before she heads home.

 _\-  i dunno…_  
_\- i gotta work tomorrow :/_

_\- so pack an overnight bag and stay at my place_

Prompto lifts her thumb to her face and chews at the nail of it. As relationships go, she’s pretty sure the first sleepover is a big step. She wonders if it’s one to be undertaken so lightly.

_\- tempting… i need my bike for tomorrow though_

_\- so bring it. it’ll fit in the back of a car, right?_

He makes it sound so simple — and maybe it is. She packs her stuff for work, brings her bike along, and that way she doesn’t have to hoof it across town at night to try to cram in enough sleep to be functional in the morning. It's a big step, sure, but Gladio's the one suggesting it, and the thought of turning him down is the last thing  _she_ wants.

_\- sounds like a plan :) want me to grab you something to eat?_

_\- nah, that’s ok. thanks though_  
_\- sexy AND thoughtful. i really lucked out, huh?_

* * *

Prompto steps from one foot to the other, trying to jog some warmth into her bare legs. The long jacket she wears, by rights, should be warm enough for her, but it’s what she wears underneath — or, more accurately, what she _doesn’t_ — that makes all the difference.

Gladio doesn’t take too long to get to the door, at least; instead of just buzzing her up, he comes down to help her with her bike and tucks it under his arm as though it were made of paper mache, and leans over to kiss her on the cheek before directing her upstairs.

The apartment is chilly, not yet warmed up from Gladiolus’s presence. He hasn’t been home for long, and Prompto feels a little guilty dropping in for a booty call when she can see the shadows looming under his eyes once she finally gets a proper look at him in the light.

The guilt lessens somewhat, when he toes off his boots and leans in to slip an arm around her, kissing her deeply.

‘You cold?’ he asks as he pulls away. He rubs his hands up her arms and there’s worry written into the amber of his eyes. ‘You’re shaking.’

Prompto feels affection pluck at her heart to see him worrying about her. She presses close and rests a hand on his chest, eyes meeting his.

‘A little,’ she murmurs. ‘Think you could warm me up?’

He responds with gusto — and when his fingers go to the topmost button of her jacket she shivers with delight that he’s doing exactly what she’d hoped. As he undoes each button, a little more of her skin is revealed; once he gets as far as the flash of pink chiffon peeping out, he splits into a grin and hurries to open the jacket the rest of the way.

It had felt like a risk, dressing like this to come here, but she’s glad for it now. Sure, it would’ve been awkward as hell to wind up in a car accident in barely-there lingerie; the payoff certainly seems worth it.

She’s wearing the matching panties this time, with no bra underneath the sheer material of the negligee, so in the coolness of the apartment her nipples stand out through the fabric and Prompto knows Gladio must be able to see the deep pink of them through it.

He seems a little awed as he helps her slip her jacket from her shoulders and sets it aside.

She gives a shiver; Gladiolus runs his hands down her arms again, and even though he’s warm to the touch she feels her skin prickle into gooseflesh beneath his fingers.

‘There’s a space heater in the bedroom,’ he says, nodding his head across the apartment.

Silently, she nods. She steps out of her boots — pausing only to push them neatly beside Gladio’s — and follows obediently behind as he takes her by the hand.

It only occurs to Prompto as she steps through the door that this is her first time seeing the inside of Gladio’s room. Their fooling around on their last date had been confined to the sofa, battered but comfy as it had been, and it had never even crossed her mind to suggest they move to the bedroom.

Once he clicks the light on, she casts a fleeting glance about the place — takes in the shelves that seemed to monopolise every spare inch of wall space, each spilling over with books. There are a few posters, too — an artsy one with an image of a rose burning in a drain; what looks like a detailed map from some fantasy world; an extravagantly painted scene that looks like it’s straight out of the eighties, depicting a woman in flowing robes, holding a sword up high.

 _‘Sword of Flame?’_ Prompto reads from the title emblazoned across the latter. ‘Is that a movie?’

‘Book,’ Gladiolus says from where he fiddles with the heater controls. ‘Ever heard of Maggie Furey? She wrote some of my favourite fantasy novels.’

Prompto can’t help but snort. She has to admit, it’s a little endearing to find out Gladio likes fantasy so much — but she never really pegged him for the type.

‘Are you telling me you’re a nerd?’ she asks. ‘Oh my god, why am I only finding this out now?’

She’s still laughing when Gladiolus rounds on her with an unamused look on his face.

‘You can’t say _anything,’_ he counters. ‘I’ve seen your game collection.’

She’s about to admit that he has a point when he picks her up suddenly by the hips, and all she can do is wrap her legs around his waist and let him bring her across the room, where he gently tosses her onto the bed.

Prompto falls upon it, still giggling; her laughter only stops when she sees the intensity in his eyes as he crawls up the bed towards her.

He moves between her legs and lowers himself onto her, mouth meeting hers hungrily as she presses her thighs against him. Already she can feel need surging through her and as he breaks away for air she grabs at his shirt, tugging it up and over his head.

She remembers long, alcohol-fueled conversations with girlfriends, much of them spent bitching about guys who forego foreplay. It seems ironic somehow that with Gladio, foreplay seems like too much of a distraction — that it just prolongs the wait until she can have him inside her. Even as she thinks it, she can’t help blushing; she doesn’t know when she got so damn desperate, but it’s a little embarrassing.

Gladiolus props himself with one hand, the other roving down her side. She slips her arms around his neck and pulls him in for another round of kisses, and as his tongue dances between her lips she can feel the gentle, teasing brush of his calloused fingertips against the inside of her thigh.

If he’s going to tease her, she decides then and there that she can’t take it — not tonight, not when she’s aching for more. She moves her hand down and tugs at her panties, and Gladio _mercifully_ helps out, moving from between her legs so that he can slip them the rest of the way off.

When he pushes her legs apart and moves down, lowering his head, Prompto shakes her head hurriedly.

‘N- no,’ she stammers. ‘Please, fuck me.’

He drops his head against her thigh and gives a soft chuckle, his breath huffing out against her skin.

‘You want it that bad, huh?’ he asks, glancing up at her through dark, thick lashes.

She’s past the point of feeling pushy for making her needs known; she nods and moves her legs open a little wider as if to coax him, and she’s thankful when he inclines his head and crawls up the bed towards her.

He places one kiss on her lips, almost innocent in its brevity, and moves toward the nightstand. He doesn’t have to dig around in it like Prompto did in her own room. When she gives a quick glance over she sees condoms and lube sitting right there in the top drawer, waiting for use.

She tries to ignore the little pang of jealousy — she can’t exactly complain when she’s been hooking up with someone else, too — and lays her head back on the pillow, waiting as patiently as she can.

Gladio picks out just a condom, leaving the lube where it is — Prompto doesn’t exactly need it, she realises, as she slips her hand down between her legs to touch herself. She’s lazily rolling her fingers over her clit when Gladiolus moves down between her legs again, and he spends a good long moment just watching her, his tongue flitting greedily across his lips like he wishes he was using it in place of her hand.

‘You like the show?’ she teases, shifting her hips to give him a better view.

‘You kidding me?’ Gladio counters with a gruff laugh. ‘I could watch you all night.’

Prompto grins, pleased, and makes a point of dipping her fingers downwards, playing the tips of them around her entrance. She still wishes it was Gladio’s dick, but it’s good enough for now as she slips her fingers in.

She hears his breath hitch; sees his lips part as he watches. As she works her fingers steadily in and out, she watches him set the condom side and unbuckle his pants, slipping them down just enough where he kneels on the bed that he can slip his erection free of his underwear.

It’s satisfying to watch for her, too, as he closes his hand around himself and languidly strokes it down his length — but it’s still not enough of a distraction. She feels like she’s burning with the need to be close to him; to feel him within her.

She slips her finger out of herself and licks them clean — the groan Gladio gives in response is more than a little satisfying — then beckons him closer.

‘Get undressed,’ she says, a little bossier than she’d intended for it to be, ‘and get over here.’

Gladio laughs; gives another few long, slow strokes before letting go and climbing off the bed to yank his clothes off.

Once he’s back between her legs, he lowers himself over her again, and for a second she thinks he’s forgotten the condom as his cock brushes against her. He doesn’t push into her, though — instead he grinds the length of him up between her folds, and when he hits her clit she can’t help but give a soft gasp of pleasure.

He takes hold of her right thigh and pushes it carefully over to the left, effectively pinning his dick between her legs; from there he leans over and kisses her, and moves his hips against her, slipping between her thighs as he goes.

So it’s not fucking — but with each thrust he bunts up against Prompto’s sweet spot and she’s hard pressed to complain. The sound of it all is amazing, too: slick and wet, in harmony with the pants and moans each of them make.

Gladiolus pauses, moves a hand to his mouth and slips his first two fingers in, sucking them to get them wet. Prompto watches, rapt, as he slips his hand down and guides his fingers into her. They fill her up well enough, at least, and when he picks up his rhythm between her thighs again she can’t help giving a breathy little moan at the combined sensations.

‘You like that, babe?’ he purrs at her ear, mouthing a kiss into her earlobe.

She nods; tips her head to the side to expose her neck to him, and he rewards her with a sharp little nip at her throat.

‘Say it,’ he growls. ‘Wanna hear how good it feels.’

Dirty talk isn’t really Prompto’s purview — leaving out the fact that she’s never had the opportunity or need to use it, the whole thing makes her self-conscious. There’s little room for her to be embarrassed, though, with Gladio’s breath hot on her skin, his cock twitching as it rubs against her.

‘Feels _good,’_ she breathes, her voice hitching a little on the second word as he bumps her clit and pleasure surges through her.

He’s got his fingers deep in her; pulls them slowly out, teases around her entrance a little before he slips them back in.

‘Still want me to fuck you?’ he murmurs, and he’s barely finished speaking before she gives an eager nod.

He rubs up against her a few more times before he pulls away. He keeps his fingers inside her, curling them into her with a last few thrusts before he pulls them free — and then, mimicking her earlier move, slips them into his mouth and licks them clean, savouring the taste with such relish that it sends a throb of arousal right through Prompto.

Gladio seems unrushed as he grabs the condom and carefully tears the wrapping open; even more so as he stretches across the toss the foil in the trash by the other side of his bed. When he finally sets about slipping the condom on, he gives his dick a few good, lazy strokes as though he has all the time in the world — takes a minute to run his thumb over the head of it, and she’s grateful at least for the view it gives her as a drop of precum beads there — before finally setting about pulling the sheath on.

She only starts to think he’s doing it on purpose when he nudges her legs apart and, instead of moving in, splays his hands out on her thighs, ghosting them gently over her skin.

Prompto has to fight the urge to sigh in exasperation. Gladiolus, it seems, is well aware of her urgency and the effect he’s having on her as he splits into a grin and finally lowers himself over her, gripping his erection ready to guide it into her.

‘I’m havin’ fun, is all,’ he says, teasing. ‘Forgive me for wantin’ to drag it out.’

She’d feel a little guilty if he didn’t choose that moment to press into her, effectively putting an end to any lateral thought.

Maybe it’s the fact that she hasn’t been with all that many guys, or that it’s been a while; maybe it’s that Gladio’s a little thicker than most. Either way, just as with the first time, that sensation of filling up catches her by surprise and she can do little more than lie there and breathe out slowly as Gladiolus comes to a halt.

‘You okay?’ he asks, his expression darkening as he leans over her.

She nods quickly — she’s better than okay.

‘Yeah,’ she says shakily. ‘You’re just… pretty big.’

Gladio’s smirk is short-lived. She figures it’s probably not the first time he’s been told this — again, she tries not to let the little twinge of jealousy take root at the thought of him sleeping with other women.

‘You need me to take it easy this time?’ he asks. He lifts a hand; uses it to brush the curls out of her face. ‘I don’t wanna hurt you.’

‘No,’ Prompto blurts. Then, when she realises she might be just a bit over-eager, she dials it back when she adds, ‘It feels good. Really good.’

Gladiolus nods in understanding, and after a pause he’s moving, pulling his hips slowly bag before driving them into her once more. His thrusts are slow and thoughtful at first, like he’s letting her get her bearings, and it’s only once she moves her hand between her thighs and dips it into the wetness where his hips meet hers that he picks up the pace.

In spite of Gladio’s earlier words, neither of them seem intent on delaying gratification. He braces his weight over her with both hands to either side of her, the better to hurry his thrusts; the more his rhythm picks up, the more quickly she rolls her fingertips over her clit, eager to chase the high. Soon they’re a chorus of heavy, uneven breathing, the bed creaking slightly beneath them with the force of Gladio’s thrusts, and all Prompto can think about is the feel of him moving within her and her own climax looming ever closer.

She doesn’t bother to draw it out — couldn’t bear the thought of being deprived of that release when she’s so single-mindedly driving towards it. As though Gladio can tell how close she is, he moves his hand down and pushes hers out of the way to take over with a steady, sure touch, and it’s like this that he brings her to her peak, closing his mouth over hers just as she reaches it.

Her groan is stifled in his kiss, though that hardly seems to dampen the intensity of it. He doesn’t stop touching her until he’s sure she’s done, and then he pulls back and moves his hand to prop himself once more, focusing his attention on his thrusts.

She brings her hands to hold his hips, digging her nails in to gain purchase on their sweat-slick surface; uses her grip to guide him, and looks up into his eyes as he moves. He holds her glance for as long as he can, but it isn’t long before his eyelids flutter shut, his brow wrinkling in concentration — and then he’s juddering, his breath coming out in a choke moan.

He drops his head against her shoulder once he’s finished. She can feel him trembling against her like it’s too much for him to keep himself up above her so she pulls at his hips, tugging him down until he’s on top of her, heavy but reassuring.

She doesn’t know how long they lie like that until he pulls out with a slight wince. He wastes little time in disposing of the condom before he’s back close to her, lying alongside her with an arm draped across her belly.

There’s something different about tonight, she thinks. There’s no rush for her to head back home since she’s staying the night — no sense of urgency to wrap things up. She realises, as Gladio moves his face into the curve of her neck and softly kisses her there, that they might actually be _cuddling._

‘You tired?’ he asks.

Prompto figures he’s asking as much for his own sake as hers; his voice sounds lazy and sluggish. She makes a noncommittal gesture, something like a lazy shrug, and shifts onto her side to face him.

‘A little, I guess,’ she murmurs. ‘I gotta be up at six but I don’t wanna sleep.’

Gladiolus blinks at her for a moment, taking her words in. After a little while, he nods.

‘I hear ya,’ he replies. ‘Kinda don’t wanna waste your first night stayin’ here.’

Prompto gives a sleepy smile and leans in to peck him on the lips. Before she can pull away, Gladiolus slips a hand into her hair and catches her in another kiss.

‘You bring somethin’ to sleep in?’ he asks when he pulls away.

Prompto’s midway to nodding when she freezes and squeezes her eyes shut with a sigh. She thought to bring all manner of toiletries and a few spare changes of underwear, but jammies completely slipped her mind. When she opens her eyes, Gladio’s grinning at her; he pulls back and sits up, climbing off the bed.

He roots around in a drawer across the room for a moment before returning with a shirt that, even in his grasp, looks oversized.

‘Here,’ he says, handing it over. ‘Sexy as that little number is, it’s prob’ly not the best to sleep in.’

She feels a pang of gratitude — and maybe, she thinks, something else that she’s too tired to mull over — and takes the shirt from his hands.

Ten minutes later they’re all cleaned up and dressed for bed, Gladio in little more than a pair of grey sweats that hug his ass so deliciously Prompto’s almost tempted to suggest round two. He climbs in first and lets her nestle in beside him, where she wriggles around for a while until she can find a comfortable spot, before he leans across to shut off the light.

The room plunges into darkness, but as Prompto’s eyes adjust she becomes aware of a pale blue-white glow somewhere in a far corner. When she sits up, her curiosity getting the better of her, she squints toward the source of it until the image resolves in the darkness.

‘Is that… a Dayglo moon?’ she asks.

Beside her, she feels Gladiolus rock slightly as he chuckles.

‘Death star,’ he says.

She turns and, careful not to knock him in the dark, and uses her fingertips to find his lips. When she does, she leans close and presses her mouth to his.

‘You,’ she says, tapping his chest with her finger,  ‘are such a nerd.’


	10. The Office

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Kinktober Day 16 — _Frottage_**
> 
> Somehow — _somehow!_ — I managed to get this chapter done in a day, expecting that I'd wind up falling behind on my Kinktober prompts. I hope you all enjoy!

It’s late when Ignis’s response to Prompto’s message comes through; she’s asleep, curled up against the warmth of Gladio’s chest, when her phone chirps by her head. She’s _just_ cosy enough not to care about checking it, but the screen stays lit up a little too long after the message comes through and the glow’s enough to illuminate the whole room.

She sighs and reaches over to grab it, only for the sound to cut off in her throat when she sees the name attached to the message.

Ignis.

_\- Teasing me while I’m too far away to enjoy it? Cheeky minx._

It’s one in the morning, late enough that she’d settled into a deep enough sleep prior to being woken up, so she’s not sure she can come up with the most eloquent of replies. She doesn’t much feel like leaving the message unanswered, though, so she settles for something brief.

_\- i could make it up to you when you get back…_

She forgets to mute her phone before the next reply comes through, and winces with guilt as Gladio stirs beside her.

_\- I’ll only be back in Insomnia for the day on Saturday before we fly out to Tokyo, so unless you intend on sitting through meetings with me all day, I’m not sure we’ll have the chance._

Prompto gives a surreptitious glance at Gladiolus — he’s still asleep — and fires off another response.

_\- i don’t mind. i could drop by your office for a little bit, if you want_  
_\- you gotta take a break for lunch, right?_

_\- Hardly. Although I’m certain I could squeeze you in…_

_\- let me know when. i’m easy :)_

‘Prom. Do you have to check Twitter _right now?’_

Prompto gives a jolt of alarm, startled by the rumble of Gladio’s sleep-thick voice. She quickly shuts off her phone’s screen and slips it underneath her pillow.

‘Sorry,’ she whispers. ‘I got a text.’

Gladiolus sighs and rolls over. With what little light filters through the drapes from the street, Prompto can make out his bleary expression, his eyebrows drawn up incredulously.

‘At this time of night?’ he says. ‘I think your other guy’s a fuckboy.’

Prompto snorts.

‘You’re the one who invited me over for a booty call,’ she protests.

There’s no response from Gladio for a moment — he’s yawning, his mouth big and wide, barely bringing his hand up in time to cover it. When he’s done, he tousles a hand through Prompto’s hair playfully.

‘I asked you to stay over, though, didn’t I?’

He has a point; Prompto rolls her eyes and ducks in close to Gladio, settling her head on his shoulder. She knows she should try to get back to sleep, but she’s wide awake from staring at her phone screen.

Idly, she runs her fingers up and down Gladiolus’s sternum.

‘He’s not a fuckboy, anyway,’ she says. ‘He’s texting so late ‘cause he’s in Europe for work. It’s like six a.m. there.’

‘Ohhh,’ Gladio says. He seems a little more awake now, alert with interest. ‘This is the editor?’

Prompto nods against his shoulder.

‘I’m curious,’ Gladiolus says slyly, ‘what this eligible bachelor looks like.’

Prompto twists, poking him gently in the side. The touch elicits a soft _oof!_ from Gladio.

‘Sounds like _somebody’s_ jealous,’ she says.

‘Ain’t jealous,’ Gladio replies. ‘Just wanna see what I’m up against.’

Prompto moves to swat at him but he reacts in time to grab her wrist, gently pinning it against the pillow above her. Whatever playful protests she may have had at the ready, he silences them all with kisses until she stops pretending to fight back and gives in, relaxing into his touch.

Gladio lets go of her wrist; runs his hand down her arm, over the swell of her breast, and down to the hem of the borrowed shirt where Prompto’s hips swim within it. Once there, he skirts his fingertips teasingly against her thigh and sits up a little to look her in the eye.

‘You gonna show me?’ he prompts. ‘Curiosity’s killin’ me here.’

Prompto gives an exasperated sigh, but nevertheless she shifts onto her side — careful not to dislodge Gladio’s hand from where it sits comfortably on her leg — and slips her phone out from under her pillow.

It doesn’t take long to find Ignis’s personal Instagram profile; he followed her when he checked out her photography, and she’s checked him out a handful of times since following back so he’s first on the list of her recent searches. He’s mostly posted shots from behind the scenes at work, although she spots a picture from their date at the national park and flushes slightly at the sight of herself in frame, her face turned away from the lens. She wonders how he took it without her noticing.

When eventually she finds a picture of the man himself — a selfie taken a few months back to show off his hair after a fresh cut, with a caption thanking his stylist — she holds the phone up for Gladiolus to see.

He takes his time inspecting the picture, and for a moment Prompto’s worried he really _is_ sizing up the competition. Gladio might have expressed little concern about her seeing somebody else, but if he’s starting to get jealous it’s probably something she needs to nip in the bud.

He looks impressed when he turns to her again, however, and there’s a wry smile on his lips.

‘He’s pretty,’ he says.

A scoff bursts from Prompto’s lips.

 _‘Pretty?’_ she echoes.

Gladiolus nods.

‘Yeah. Pretty. Kinda got that debonair look, y’know?’

Prompto puts her phone to sleep with a roll of her eyes and drops it beside her on the bed. After a beat she’s rounding on Gladio, propping herself over him and looking shrewdly into his eyes.

‘Not _handsome?’_ she says. ‘Or hot?’

Gladiolus chuckles, soft and low, and slips a hand through Prompto’s hair.

‘Ain’t sayin’ pretty’s a bad thing,’ he replies. ‘I’d fuck him.’

_‘Gladio!’_

He puts his free hand up in a gesture of innocence, his amber eyes going wide. Prompto’s seen this look on Iris before — the whole _butter wouldn’t melt_ thing. It’s a little less convincing on somebody six-foot-six and built as hell.

‘What?’ he protests. ‘I would.’

‘You’re a piece of work,’ Prompto laughs.

She buries her face against his chest, and his arm slips around her, holding her tight.

‘Yeah,’ he agrees, sighing. ‘But you love it.’

* * *

The offices at Chamberlain Publications are a flurry of activity when Prompto gets in on Saturday. The place isn’t technically open during the week, but you’d never know it to see so many members of staff scurrying about. She wonders what deadline they’re all working toward that has them in on the weekend, and sends Ignis jetting off across the globe.

She’s glad for the visitor pass she wears around her neck as she makes her way through Ignis’s floor. It’s readily apparent that she doesn’t fit in here, and that she’s getting in the way — the pass gives her somewhat of a buffer from the scathing stares of _Moda_ staff, proof that she’s supposed to be here just like them.

Ignis’s assistant seems loath to help her when she gets to his office. Since Prompto’s wearing a visitor pass, and since she _technically_ doesn’t have a legit reason to be here, it’s difficult to convince the woman — with her dark, glossy block fringe and makeup up on fleek — that she’s not some try-hard fan who conned her way into getting a pass.

‘Look, he’s not in,’ the woman says, folding manicured hands in front of her. ‘That’s all I can tell you.’

Prompto sighs. She’s tried Ignis’s phone a handful of times, to no avail; he probably can’t hear it over the cacophony of voices filling the floor.

She can tell, at least, that the assistant is telling the truth — through the frosted glass door of Ignis’s office, little is visible, but where the room is lit up faintly in silhouette by the sunlight streaming through the wall-to-ceiling window, she can that the office is empty.

‘Can you just… point me to where he _might_ be?’ she asks. ‘He’s expecting me.’

The assistant narrows her eyes, and in her piercing glare Prompto feels about three inches tall. Prompto _is_ supposed to be here, but that stare is so icy she’s almost convinced she isn’t.

‘It’s all right, Gen.’

The sound of Ignis’s voice sends a thrill through Prompto; she can hear his polished shoes clicking across the floor with brisk strides and turns to see him approaching at something of a clip from the hallway to the left of his office.

‘Ms. Argentum,’ he says brightly, gesturing her over. ‘I have a few spare moments, if you’d like the tour.’

Prompto falls into step behind him, trying her best to ignore the assistant’s pointed stare.

He brings her through the various departments, giving a little monologue as he goes. It’s a lot bigger than Prompto would have expected, with each facet of the magazine — photography, copy, advertising, styling and so on — getting its own set of offices. There are no models at _Moda_ today, although from time to time a team of frantic and overworked staffers will breeze by with a rackful of couture garments.

‘What’s with all the mayhem, anyways?’ Prompto asks, barely ducking out of the way as a tall, slim man in skinny jeans rushes by with an oversized folder tucked under his arm. ‘It’s not _always_ like this at weekends, is it?’

Ignis gives a scoff.

‘Good grief, _no,’_ he says. ‘I’d be prematurely grey if it were.’

He pauses to usher her into the photography department, where the place seems to be in even _more_ of a state of frenzy. On a regular day, Prompto would love to get to pick the brains of the people working here — having been sent the _Moda_ back catalogue by Ignis, she’s impressed with what she’s seen of their work — but they barely seem to have time to acknowledge their editor’s presence, busy as they are.

‘This is crunch time,’ he says. ‘The summer issue is due in two weeks, so we’re scrambling to get the last details together.’

Prompto winces. To say the staff around her look overworked would be an understatement. She wonders how Ignis has time to see her even briefly with so much going on around him.

‘Your issues are quarterly, right?’ she says. ‘Why not do all the work like… at the start of the quarter before?’

A member of staff is beckoning Ignis over, looking a little perturbed. At first she thinks Ignis isn’t listening to her — but then he turns to her with a smile.

‘Because, darling,’ he says, ‘fashion doesn’t stand still. What’s _en vogue_ in April won’t be in June.’

With that little tidbit in mind, he ducks away, striding across the space to the staffer in need of assistance.

While she waits for Ignis to finish up, Prompto strolls through the department. She’s not really sure what she’s allowed to see, but she figures Ignis wouldn’t be taking her on a tour if he didn’t trust her to be here. It’s not like she’s going to sell details to the competition, she figures — not that she’s even sure of what she’s looking at most of the time as she glances about at the boards filled with photographs of models. If the eccentric colours and asymmetric cuts are what counts for fashion these days, she knows even less about style than she thought.

She’s standing at one display filled with shots of models taken right here in Insomnia — she recognises the stonework in a particular photo from the library downtown — when she feels a gentle touch on her hip and turns to see Ignis behind her, a pleasant smile on his lips.

‘What do you think?’ he asks. ‘Does it match up to your standards?’

Prompto snorts and swats him away.

‘I like that it feels like the city’s part of the scene as much as the models,’ she says, ‘not just a background. If… that makes any sense.’

She feels a little like she’s back in freshman photography class, seeking approval from the professor; she gets an overwhelming rush of relief — and, strangely, pleasure — when Ignis gives an enthusiastic nod.

‘You have a good eye,’ he says. He nods his head to the side, toward another board filled with pictures. ‘Why don’t you tell me what you think of the rest of my team’s work?’

She falls into step beside him, still buoyed by the warmth of his praise as he leads her around the room. They share a little banter about the photographers’ techniques, and the editing work that has gone into the pictures. When they come to an editorial featuring models in various monochromatic shots, Prompto can’t quite see the appeal.

‘Fashion doesn’t have to _make sense,’_ Ignis argues, as they discuss a shot of a model in a white ensemble, her hair and face blanched to match the clothes.

Prompto shrugs.

‘Sure, but you shouldn’t have to get a degree in fine art to understand it,’ she says. ‘What’s the point if people can’t relate to it?’

‘Do you need to relate to it to think it’s a beautiful image?’ Ignis counters.

‘Yeah, it’s beautiful,’ Prompto agrees, ‘but it doesn’t make me wanna dress like her.’

‘It’s not about wanting to dress like her,’ Ignis says, shaking his head. ‘It’s about provoking a reaction. If you were flipping through the pages of a magazine filled with shots of beautiful people in expensive clothes and you landed on this, wouldn’t it give you pause? Wouldn’t it make the magazine stand out from the rest?’

Prompto can tell that he’s getting a little frustrated — and somehow, it only makes her want to argue with him all the more. It might be a friendly debate, but something about it makes her blood sing.

‘Isn’t advertising supposed to sell you a lifestyle?’ she presses. ‘Car commercials tell you you’ll be powerful if you buy their model. Perfume commercials tell you you can be rich and fall in love if you buy their fragrance. This just… makes me think I’ll look like an alien if I wear these clothes.’

She knows she’s struck a nerve when Ignis blusters out an exasperated sigh and turns his face to the ceiling, pinching the bridge of his nose beneath the frame of his glasses. She knows it probably shouldn’t give her pleasure to antagonise him, but there’s something too delicious about seeing him shake off his perfect facade, his cheeks flushing in anticipation of conflict.

‘These images aren’t _selling_ anything,’ he says sharply. ‘They’re meant to make you think. I’d argue they’ve done just that.’

Finally, Prompto acquiesces; she gives a casual shrug and moves away from the board onto the next, where a decidedly less contentious shoot involving beachwear is on display.

She’s inspecting a shot of a woman by the poolside in some elegant European hotel, when she feels Ignis step up behind her. He’s close — closer than she’d expect. Even without looking at him, she can sense him trying to rein in his irritation.

‘I suppose you’ll have a problem with these, too,’ he says wearily.

Prompto shakes her head.

‘Nah,’ she replies. ‘They’re pretty simple to figure out — it’s selling a narrative, right? Escaping from the daily grind, becoming somebody else for a little while.’

She hears him smirk; feels him brush up behind her, so close that she can’t be sure if it’s intentional or not.

‘You have it all figured out, don’t you?’ he murmurs. ‘Clever girl…’

It’s then that she feels it — the press of him against her. He’s hard, the protrusion of his dick digging into her ass where he stands looking over her shoulder. Maybe she wasn't the only one who got a little worked up by their disagreement.

She’s acutely aware that they’re not alone in here, that there’s a team of photographers and editors working together, their awareness of what’s going on only held off as long as their project keeps their attention.

Somehow, Prompto doesn’t care. No — more than that, the thought that they might get caught just makes her push back against him, subtly, as though it were an accident.

‘We don’t all need to have gone to _Tisch_ to have an eye for these things,’ she says, irreverent.

‘Oh?’ he says. She feels him grind against her, his hips moving in slow circles against her backside. ‘I suppose you learned all about that the same place you learned to be a dreadful _brat.’_

His hand grips at her hip as he speaks, his cock bunting into the groove between her legs on the word _brat._ She can imagine all too clearly what it would be like to be fucked by him; with the tone of their little disagreement to go by, she figures he’d make for a pushy lover.

‘I’m a brat, huh?’ she counters, her tone light and innocent as she slips a hand back between them, gripping his erection and giving it a sharp tug. ‘You gonna punish me?’

At this, Ignis’s careful demeanour seems to come undone — maybe it’s her words, or her grasp on his cock, but he gives a sharp moan that she’s pretty sure he had intended to keep under wraps. He promptly turns it into a cough and steps away from her, lifting a hand to his mouth.

‘I’m sure it’s nothing we can’t resolve,’ he says, his tone prim and confident, as though speaking to a business contact. ‘Shall we return to my office to discuss it further?’

Prompto shoots a glance toward the photography staffers; they don’t seem to have noticed anything amiss.

Feeling bold, she turns toward Ignis and steps up close, her hand finding his erection and cupping it tightly where she feels it straining through the material of his slacks.

‘I think I’d like that a lot,’ she murmurs.

It’s a wonder they can keep their hands off themselves as they walk through the building — even more of a wonder that nobody seems to notice the flashing beacon that is Ignis’s hard-on where it tents his pants. Somehow, they make it unscathed to his office.

Ignis’s assistant glances up from her laptop where she sits at the desk outside; she barely acknowledges Prompto’s presence.

‘Please tell any visitors that I’m not to be disturbed,’ Ignis says.

Gen gives Ignis a look that says she knows more than he gives her credit for, but she doesn’t call him on it at least.

‘Of course, Mr. Scientia,’ she replies, before promptly returning her attention to her work.

Ignis beckons Prompto into his office with a hand in the curve of her waist, and she finds herself unconsciously sinking into the touch as he steers her in. Once they’re inside, he locks the door, and Prompto barely has time to get her bearings before he slips a hand into her hair, tugging gently, and pulls her into a deep, searching kiss.

Without breaking away, he walks her back towards the desk; lifts her up onto it by the hips and moves his mouth downward, down her throat. He slips the strap of her camisole from her shoulder and has the cup of her bra free a moment later, his mouth moving to her breast where his tongue laves over her nipple, already finding it hard and eager.

‘You sure nobody can see us through the door?’ Prompto asks, before a groan cuts her off.

‘They probably could,’ Ignis says, pausing to graze his teeth against Prompto’s nipple. ‘But frankly, I can’t bring myself to care.’

Prompto finds she can’t, either; when he grazes his teeth over her again, a little harder this time, she elicits a moan that she’s _pretty_ sure Gen can hear outside the closed door.

When he lifts his head to look at her, she grabs at his shirt, fumbling to get the buttons open with fingers that won’t quite seem to do what they’re told; bit by bit she exposes his chest, and she’s more than a little pleased to see that her earlier suspicions about him being muscular were correct. Maybe he’s not quite ripped like Gladio, but he obviously looks after his physique — she presses a hand to the contours, admiring him, and it’s enough for him to give a wry smirk.

‘I thought the point of a quickie,’ he says, ‘was to be _quick.’_

‘So that’s all you wanted me here for?’ Prompto teases. ‘A quick _fuck?’_

Her words seem to light a fire under him. He moves his hands down to her hips and grips at the hem of her skirt, pushing it up and out of the way; with no pantyhose in the way, he’s free to hook his fingers under the band of her panties and yanks at them. She props herself on the desk and lifts her ass to accommodate him so he can pull them down, and he stops midway down her thighs.

‘Get up,’ he says, lifting his hand to cup her chin.

His gaze is intent as he meets hers; the fire in his green eyes sends a throb right between her legs.

She does as she’s told. Once she’s on her feet, he grips her by the hip and tugs.

‘Turn around,’ he orders.

Heat rushes to Prompto’s cheeks in response to the commands, but still she obeys — truth is, she kind of _likes_ being bossed around, not that she ever thought she’d admit it. To have it all coming from Ignis — elegant, delectably _proper_ Ignis — only makes it sexier.

She swivels in his grasp and turns to face the desk; when she feels Ignis yank her skirt out of the way with one hand and smooth over her ass with the other, she leans forward to give him a better view.

‘Magnificent,’ he murmurs.

With a rush, she realises he’s talking about _her._

There’s some rustling behind her — a quick glance over her shoulder sees him taking his wallet out of his pocket, from which he fishes out a condom. He wastes no time in unzipping his fly and slipping his slacks down just enough to pull his cock free, already good to go; he’s not cut like Gladio, and Prompto watches with a dry mouth as he strokes himself a few times before seeing to the condom.

When he has it rolled onto himself, he gets close to her, his fingers dipping between her thighs as his lips brush her ear.

‘Bend over,’ he murmurs, and although his voice is soft she knows it’s a command not to be trifled with.

Prompto leans over the table, resting her weight on the surface of it amid scattered papers and photo proofs. She’s barely settled before Ignis places a knee between her legs and uses it to push them apart, spreading her wide.

She anticipates the feel of his erection against her, but it doesn’t come just yet. Instead, he slips his fingers upwards until he finds her clit, and swirls it beneath his fingertips.

It’s good — _real_ good — and she’s so lost in the sensation that it almost takes her by surprise when he pulls his hand away, slipping his cock between her lips and pressing inside her. She breathes out a little gasp, and soon he’s pushing the rest of the way in until his hips are flush with hers.

‘Touch yourself,’ he says.

Prompto’s cheeks burn as she obeys, delving a hand down between her legs. She’s so obscenely wet after their little game in the photography department that she fleetingly worries about the mess they’ll make, but Ignis seems unconcerned as he slides slowly out of her and pushes promptly back in.

He grabs her by the hips to hold her in place, leaving her free to touch herself at her leisure, massaging her swollen clit. As he pulls back and thrusts into her again — more forcefully, this time — she gives a choked little moan.

‘Do you think you can keep quiet?’ Ignis purrs, chasing his words with another forceful thrust. ‘Wouldn’t want everyone in the building to know what we’re doing, now, would we?’

He pulls back and thrusts again, and this time it’s hard enough that she’s sure he’s doing it precisely so that she _can’t_ keep quiet; she doesn’t bother restraining herself from gasping out loud, knowing that it’s what he wants.

‘Perhaps not,’ Ignis muses, his voice rich with a smirk. ‘I’ll just have to keep you quiet myself, then, won’t I?’

He slides his hand up her side, dragging his blunt fingernails into her flesh where her top has ridden up; when he gets up to her shoulder he slips his arm around her and moves to cover her mouth with his hand, pausing before he does so.

‘What do you think?’ he prompts. ‘Can you be quiet for me?’

He fucks himself into her again, even harder this time, and a groan of pleasure intermingled with pain frees itself from her lips. When his hand claps down over her mouth, the rush she gets from it is almost dizzying.

He seems intent on dragging more noises from her, even muzzled by his hand as she is; as she touches herself, her trembling fingers growing more frantic with time, he begins to slam into her with such force that she can feel the desk quaking underneath her.

Prompto feels wetness dripping down her thigh, feels sweat trickling down her skin. Behind her, Ignis seems to be coming steadily more undone, his own breaths sharp and laboured. She gives a showy moan, pushing back against him, and he rewards her by digging his nails into her hip so hard she thinks — with a rush — that it’ll bruise.

With the force of his thrusts, and her own limbs quivering so badly she barely has control of them, her fingers seem to be missing her clit more often than not; yet still she can feel herself getting close, can feel it all rushing towards her with each rough, wonderful thrust of Ignis within her.

She tries to tell him that she’s close, even muffled as her voice is, but Ignis seems to sense it without being told.

‘Come for me, darling,’ he growls, and the command is enough to send her over the edge.

She lets out a shout of sheer, mindless bliss — it’s a good thing Ignis’s hand is still firmly in place, stifling it enough that it’s probably only audible for anybody close by — and goes rigid, her vision going white.

Ignis is still slamming into her, the desk still rocking with the force of it; as soon as her climax has passed he’s pulling out and slipping his hand free of her mouth, and she can hear the slick sound of him stroking himself rapidly, his breath a staccato rhythm.

‘Let me come on you, pet,’ he says.

Swallowing, she happily nods.

There’s a crinkling noise as he slips the condom off — more wet sounds of skin on skin — and then she feels his cock press against her ass as his seeds spurts out onto her, hot and profuse.

She’s in a daze as she stands there, his cum dripping down her ass, rolling down her inner leg. All she can do is stare out the window as she tries to compose herself again, her hand slick where it still grips the desk for support.

She can hear Ignis’s shallow breathing at her ear; he still hasn’t moved from behind her, and it feels as though they’re under a spell that neither of them seems eager to break.

It’s the phone that has that privilege in the end — it trills on Ignis’s desk, loud and demanding, and Ignis only takes a few beats to compose himself before reaching past Prompto to answer it.

‘Yes? Ah. Of course. Thank you, Gentiana.’

After he hangs up, he rests his forehead against Prompto’s shoulder for one long, indulgent moment, pressing his lips to her skin. Then — to Prompto’s dismay — he steps away, moving around the desk and fishing a box of Kleenex from one of the drawers.

‘Let me guess,’ Prompto says, pulling herself upright. ‘Duty calls?’

Ignis nods; he grabs a handful of tissues, then offers the box to her.

‘Sadly,’ he replies. ‘But don’t think for one moment that I’m done with you.’

‘What about Tokyo…?’ she asks, quirking an eyebrow.

She likes the way Ignis’s lip curls at the corner in a devilish smirk; she likes it a lot.

‘There are ways of amusing ourselves long-distance, I’m sure,’ he says. ‘If you’re so inclined.’


	11. The Game

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Kinktober Day 17 — _Masturbation/Seduction_**  
> 
> For anybody waiting for the Promgladnis part of this fic to kick in, you're in luck!
> 
> Y'all this chapter is two days late I'm sorry ;--; Kind of battling virtually zero sleep and a refluxy newborn among a whole host of BS that hasn't exactly been conducive to writing gratuitous smut. I hope this chapter is worth the wait.
> 
> Future updates are probably gonna be a little behind, too :/

Prompto could mark the times she’s been with Gladio on two hands, yet it all seems like such a blur when she tries to look back over it. It’s been weeks since the night at the club; weeks, and even though it’s passed in the blink of an eye, she feels like she’s known him for so much longer.

They’re in tune with one another — maybe they don’t finish each other’s sentences quite yet, but Gladiolus always seems to know just what she’s thinking, before even _she_ does.

It’s… nice. _Stable._ Maybe it’s not day trips to the national park and fancy lingerie, but it fills her heart with a giddy excitement when she sees Gladio’s name light up her phone nonetheless.

With Ignis, though… Ignis, for all his put-together exterior, his tailored clothes and perfect hair, sets her afire. Something about him just makes her unravel, and it’s as terrifying as it is irresistible.

She wants, more than anything, to be able to talk to Iris about it — to try to find some sort of answer in all of this. That, however, would involve opening up about _who_ it is that she’s been seeing all this time, and it’s gone on so long now that she’s not sure she can ever break it to her friend without irreparable damage.

She resolves herself to figuring it out alone. Maybe, if she’s really desperate, there’s a subreddit she can go to for advice.

Prompto has plans to see Gladio tonight for another sleepover, at any rate. She hopes that spending some time with him will distract her somewhat from Ignis being away in Tokyo for the next while. It seems like every time she closes her eyes, her mind keeps replaying their tryst in his office, lingering on little details she hadn’t paid much attention to at the time.

All she knows is she wants more of it, and she’s going to have to wait.

She sighs, putting Ignis momentarily out of her head — she has to work through the week, after all. Stiffly, she stretches where she sits at the breakfast bar half-heartedly chewing her way through a protein bar.

‘Oh, awesome!’

She glances over to the sofa where Iris sits having a power breakfast of coffee and little else. The paper’s out in front of her — not a habit Prompto could ever understand, but Iris has done it for as long as they’ve known each other — and she has it open on the culture section.

‘They’re screening episodes one through six at the Palladium Sunday,’ Iris says. ‘You wanna go?’

Prompto wrinkles her nose.

 _‘Star Wars?’_ she says. ‘I mean, I like the movies as much as the next gal, but not enough to spend a whole day of my life watching a marathon.’

‘It’s thirteen hours runtime,’ Iris supplies without missing a beat. ‘Plus intermissions. I wonder if Gladdy would go…’

Prompto snorts in spite of herself.

‘Probably,’ she retorts. ‘If he’s a big enough fan to have a Death Star in his roo—’

She cuts herself off, but from the ringing silence that settles over the apartment, she knows it’s too late. She watches, registering everything in slow motion, as Iris lifts her head from the newspaper and turns to look at her with wide eyes.

Prompto winces.

_Shit. Here it comes._

‘What’d you say?’ Iris prompts.

‘I mean, I think he said something on Facebook about—’

Iris cuts her off with that teacher glare; Prompto’s powerless to resist.

‘I _knew_ it,’ she  announces, springing up from her seat. ‘I _knew_ there was something going on between you two. How long?’

Prompto’s cheeks have gone hot. She wonders if she could wheedle her way out of this conversation with the excuse that she has to head off for work, but she doesn’t expect Iris to let her off so easy.

With a sigh of resignation, her shoulders slumping in defeat, Prompto swivels on her seat to face Iris.

‘A few weeks,’ she says. ‘That night I went to club? That was with Gladio.’

She leaves out the gritty details — for the sake of _everyone_ involved — but still she feels the weight of Iris’s scrutiny on her, as though with the revelation of Gladio’s identity, all the particulars of their physical relationship have been exposed, too.

Iris watches her for a long, terrifying moment with shrewdly-narrowed eyes. Prompto wonders, silently, how long it’ll take for her to find a new roommate in time to make next month’s rent.

Suddenly, however, Iris’s demeanour brightens. She crosses the room and flings her arm around Prompto, squeezing her tight.

‘You _guys,’_ she says, sighing happily. When she pulls away, she’s still smiling — but that doesn’t stop her from socking Prompto in the arm. ‘When were you gonna _tell_ me?’

_Maybe when I figured out a way to get around the weirdness of banging my best friend’s big brother?_

Aloud, Prompto says: ‘I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I guess I was waiting for the right moment.’

Iris shrugs as though she understands. A moment later she’s clambering onto the stool beside Prompto.

‘So is it, like… serious?’ she asks. ‘You’ve been spending a lot of time over at his place.’

Prompto bobs her shoulders. She wants to say yes, but she’s not even sure herself — plus Ignis being in the equation complicates things somewhat.

‘It’s pretty great,’ she replies. ‘He’s… on the same frequency, I guess.’

Giving an eager nod, Iris purses her lips thoughtfully.

‘So you and Ignis, you’re still—’ she makes a vague gesture involving several fingers mashed together, to which Prompto responds with a groan _‘—you know?_ How does Gladdy feel about that?’

It’s surreal, Prompto thinks, that they’re actually having this conversation. Even in the scenarios she imagined where Iris didn’t completely disown her, she never thought her friend would jump so quickly into asking questions about the relationship.

She huffs out a sigh and reaches back behind her to grab the rest of her protein bar.

‘He’s cool with it,’ she says. ‘I mean, he _seems_ cool with it. I’m still kinda… trying to figure it all out myself.’

Iris gives a thoughtful nod. Prompto imagines she can see the cogs working underneath her dark hair.

‘I guess if he doesn’t have a problem with it, it’s okay?’ Iris says pensively. ‘It’s different with him though, right? Like — and _please_ do not give me any details involving my brother — with Ignis, you two are at it like rabbits, right?’

Prompto chokes on a mouthful of protein bar. She figures now’s maybe not the time to tell Iris that she and Gladio have fooled around pretty much every time they’ve seen each other.

‘Yeah,’ she says, choosing her words carefully. ‘It’s different.’

‘And if you _had to_ choose…’ Iris says innocently.

For just a moment, Prompto allows herself to entertain the question — allows herself to wonder what, if either Ignis or Gladiolus made her choose between them, she would do. She’s known Gladio longer — the run-in with Ignis in traffic notwithstanding — and there’s something so easy about being with him, but with Ignis it’s electric.

There are times, when she’s curled up in Gladio’s arms after the adrenaline and lust have died down post-fooling around, that she could see herself being with him for the long haul. The thought of never seeing Ignis again, though — never again feeling that _rush…_

‘I don’t know,’ Prompto says. She tries to sound light, but there’s an uneasiness in the pit of her stomach that seems to come up every time she tries to grapple this particular problem. ‘Guess I don’t need to worry about it right now though, right?’

Iris doesn’t look convinced.

‘Guess not,’ she says.

* * *

It’s there in the back of Prompto’s mind through the day. She knows her head isn’t entirely in the game when it comes to work — without thinking, she finds herself cycling toward Ignis’s office for a courier run, even though the job is on the far side of town — and even though she keeps pushing it to the back of her thoughts, Iris’s expression comes back to her every time.

Her friend had been all about her being a _modern woman_ until Gladiolus had come into the equation; Prompto can’t say she judges Iris for being a little protective of her brother’s feelings.

She’s still flipping it over in her head when Gladio comes down to meet her at the door of his building. She came straight from work, bringing clothes with her to change into — Gladiolus grabs her bike as per usual, and she hefts her bag onto her shoulder as she follows after him.

The kiss they share in the doorway to his apartment is almost domestic; Prompto can smell hot food inside, and even though it’s just pasta sauce from a jar she’s thankful for the little slice of homeliness.

‘You wanna grab a shower?’ Gladio asks, setting her bike down and taking her bag from her.

Prompto gives a grateful nod. Coming straight from work might give them more time together, but she’s pretty sure she stinks after a day of cycling back and forth across the city.

‘Use whatever you want,’ Gladiolus says. ‘If you don’t mind smellin’ like a guy.’

Smelling like a guy turns out not to be all that bad, Prompto discovers — Gladio uses some fancy brand of shampoo with exotic ingredients like _Kakadu plum,_ whatever the hell that is, and it smells _amazing._ His shower gel smells like cloves and rum; she spends a good minute sniffing the bottle before she carries on with her shower.

The conditioner leaves her hair glossier than she thinks it’s ever been, and she twists it into curls while it’s still damp before she heads out of the bathroom wrapped in one of Gladio’s huge, fluffy bathrobes.

He’s got dinner ready for her when she comes out, and the smell of it after a long day at work is too tempting to wait for. She’ll get dressed later, she decides, slumping onto the couch beside Gladio in the cosy confines of her robe.

‘You smell good,’ Gladio says. He stretches out a hand to tug gently at one of Prompto’s curls, setting it springing back into place.

‘I smell like _you,’_ she counters dryly.

They talk about their day while they eat — Gladiolus got off another back to back shift in the small hours of the morning, so his day technically only began a few hours ago after he woke up; in Prompto’s case, there wasn’t anything particularly out of the ordinary at work, although she recounts running into one of her favourite customers, a little old lady who’s always buying things on mail order and usually winds up on Prompto’s run.

‘So, uh,’ Gladio says, pushing his pasta around a little before spearing a piece on his fork. ‘Iris gave me a call earlier.’

Prompto freezes with a wince. She’d forgotten about this morning — mercifully — and it hadn’t occurred to her to warn Gladiolus that his sister might hit him up about the news. She’s almost afraid to ask how _that_ exchange went.

‘Yikes,’ she says. ‘Sorry… I should probably have given you the heads-up.’

Gladiolus snorts.

‘Ya think?’ he says with a cynical twist of his lips. ‘She guilt-tripped me _big time.’_

Prompto heaves a sigh and sets her plate aside before flopping back on the couch. All things considered, she doesn’t think it went too badly for her — she feels bad that Gladio got the brunt of it.

‘It could’ve been worse,’ she says, glancing over at Gladio as he sets his own food on the coffee table. ‘I mean… she didn’t disown either of us.’

‘Speak for yourself,’ Gladiolus retorts. ‘I’m gonna be makin’ it up to her for years.’

Prompto gives a sleepy little laugh and reaches out to touch Gladio’s arm.

‘I’m glad she knows now, at least,’ she says. ‘No more sneaking around.’

‘You gotta point,’ Gladio says with a nod.

He budges closer, slinging his arm around Prompto’s shoulders; turns his head and nestles his nose in against her hair. It’s the moments like this, more than the sex, that Prompto craves.

‘You gonna put on some clothes?’ Gladio murmurs.

Prompto sighs.

‘Thinkin’ bout it,’ she replies. ‘Pretty comfortable here, though.’

‘Yeah, me too.’

She drops her head against his chest and lets the steady rise and fall of it lull her. It’d be so easy to pass out here like this — she’s definitely done it a handful of times before — but it feels like a waste of an evening together.

‘Netflix?’ she asks, lifting her head to look up at him. ‘I’ll even let you put something super nerdy on…’

‘Geez, thanks,’ Gladio replies, rolling his eyes. ‘I’m sure I can pick something out.’

She’s reluctant to let him go as he pulls away to grab his laptop and set up something to watch. With a melodramatic sigh, she sinks back into the sofa with every intention of getting as comfortable as humanly possible.

‘Did Iris tell you about the _Star Wars_ marathon?’ Prompto asks, prodding Gladiolus’s side with her toe while he sets everything up.

‘Uh huh,’ Gladio says. ‘You interested?’

Prompto wrinkles her nose.

‘I’m good,’ she replies. ‘I think I’m washing my hair that day…’

Gladio’s husky laugh fills her with a flood of warmth that sets her cheeks glowing. He doesn’t even wait to finish setting up Netflix — just turns and launches himself at her, hands delving into her hair as his mouth finds hers.

‘You’re cute,’ he says. ‘Anybody ever tell you that?’

She gives an innocent shrug.

‘Once or twice.’

He holds her in place, and for a little while his amber eyes linger on hers. There’s a fire there that she recognises — the precursor to what always comes next when they’re teasing each other like this — but there’s something more, she decides, as his gaze holds hers. Something that makes butterflies well up within her stomach with such fury she almost feels sick.

She’s twisting this little conundrum over in her head when he leans in and touches her lips with his own, surprisingly tender in the wake of the moment. Her heart thuds happily within her chest, but for once it’s not lust that sets it pounding — it’s… something else.

Gladio’s gentle as he cups her chin, angling her face up to lay more kisses on her lips. There’s something pleasantly slow about their pace, like all that matters is this moment and not what it might lead to. For once, Prompto doesn’t feel that burn deep within her, that itch that only his body can scratch; for once, she’s content to hold, and be held by him.

The moment is doomed to end prematurely, as her phone buzzes naggingly from her backpack where Gladio left it. With a groan, she flicks an irritated glance towards it as Gladiolus pulls away.

‘Probably Iris trying to cockblock us,’ Prompto says with a world weary sigh.

Tempting as it is to let it ring out, the intimacy of their kiss is gone anyway, so she twists in Gladio’s embrace and reaches across the floor for the bag, fumbling with the zip a few times before finally getting it open.

‘Calling to check up on me?’ she asks as she answers.

She’s so set on expecting it to be Iris that she only gave the screen a cursory glance; it’s not until she hears a decidedly _male_ voice on the line that she realises it must have said _Ignis_ instead.

‘You could say that,’ he says. ‘I’m still thinking about the other day in my office, if I’m honest.’

‘Ignis,’ she says, promptly sitting upright and almost knocking Gladiolus away in the process. ‘Hey — sorry, I wasn’t, uh. Wasn’t expecting you.’

She shoots Gladio a guilty look, but he’s already turning back to his laptop to scroll through Netflix as though he’s completely unmoved to know that Prompto’s other love interest is on the line.

‘Bad time?’ Ignis asks. ‘I can call you tomorrow instead.’

‘No,’ Prompto says hurriedly. ‘I’m just, uh, with company.’

She thinks she hears the faintest scoff on the other end of the line.

‘Ah.’

‘Not like _that,’_ she counters. ‘Some people are capable of keeping it in their pants.’

She catches movement at the corner of her vision; when she glances up at Gladio, he’s watching her with a knowing smirk. Promptly, she looks away.

‘You didn’t seem to mind when I had _it_ in you, instead,’ Ignis muses, the slightest hint of amusement in his voice.

Prompto’s mouth goes dry. She’s suddenly very keenly aware that Gladio could probably hear Ignis’s voice, if he strained to hear. She wonders if she should go take this particular call somewhere private, but something about stepping away like that feels awkward and pointed.

She pushes a stray lock of hair out of her face and tries to act casual as she sits up on the sofa, angling herself a little away from Gladio and switching her phone to her other ear, away from him.

‘So,’ she says. ‘What’s up?’

 _‘What’s up?’_ Ignis echoes, with a chuckle. ‘I was calling to see if you’d had any thoughts on our conversation the other day.’

Prompto raises an eyebrow quizzically. She tries to pinpoint _which_ conversation, exactly, but when she runs her mind back to Saturday all she gets is vivid flashbacks to being bent over the desk in Ignis’s office.

‘Uh.’

Another chuckle from Ignis.

‘I suggested we might be able to find certain… long-distance distractions while I’m away,’ he says. ‘Although I imagine the timing might not be the best at this particular moment…’

Beside Prompto, Gladiolus shuffles up close to her, slipping an arm comfortably around her waist. When she glances back at her he lifts his eyebrows in a _don’t mind me_ expression.

‘Maybe not,’ she says, with a little laugh. She’s suddenly acutely aware of herself — of how close Gladio’s sitting while Ignis speaks so flirtatiously on the phone.

Where Gladiolus has his arm around her, he runs it gently up and down her side. It’s nice; she sinks into it reflexively.

‘Perhaps we might make plans…?’ Ignis suggests, coyly. ‘I’m… what was the word you used? “Easy”?’

‘I guess I’m free after work tomorrow,’ Prompto says. ‘What’s the time difference, anyways?’

There’s a pause, during which Prompto assumes Ignis is checking the time.

‘It’s morning here,’ he replies. ‘Half-seven.’

‘That’s early,’ Prompto says, with a wince.

There’s a slight sigh of agreement from Ignis. The sound of it — not all that different from a sigh of pleasure, when she thinks about it — makes her skin prickle.

‘We’re shooting overnight,’ he says. ‘So the time difference isn’t too terrible. Tokyo is rather beautiful by night, I must say.’

Prompto hums thoughtfully. She tries to imagine being there in person, basking in the cityscape. She’s seen enough travel photography to have fallen in love with Japan, but she knows it must be completely different to be there in the flesh.

She’s a little distracted by the conversation, so she doesn’t notice at first that Gladiolus has turned towards her. It’s only once she feels his breath on her neck and finds him leaning in to kiss her there that she realises he’s practically sitting on top of her. When she twists to give him a pointed stare, he has an innocent look on his face before he resumes his kisses.

‘Has Vyv been in touch yet?’

Prompto blinks, turning her attention back towards the phone.

‘What?’ she blurts, before catching herself. ‘Uh, sorry, I mean… what was that?’

It’s starting to get a little difficult, juggling the phone call with Gladiolus sitting there, mouthing kisses into her neck. If she didn’t know better, she’d say Gladio was doing it on purpose.

‘Vyv Dorden,’ Ignis says. ‘He’s the editor of _Free,_ the travel magazine under the same publisher as _Moda._ I asked him to get in touch with you.’

Gladio’s hand has, at some point, come to rest on Prompto’s thigh; he skirts it up under the end of the bathrobe and Prompto shivers delicately. It takes her a second to register what Ignis said.

‘Oh,’ she murmurs. ‘Right. No, nothing yet.’

Ignis is silent for a little while. With nothing to split Prompto’s attention, she’s able to focus on the feel of Gladio’s hand gliding up the inside of her thigh. She’s not wearing anything under the robe, so when his hand gets to the juncture of her legs, his fingertips brush against her lips and the touch elicits a soft little sound of surprise from her.

‘I… take it you’re busy?’ Ignis prompts.

She thinks, just maybe, he sounds amused. With a huff, she swats at Gladio’s arm; he gives a devilish waggle of his eyebrows before pulling away. She tries to ignore the wry smirk on his lips, and the way it tugs at her belly.

‘No,’ she says sharply. ‘Just my _friend_ being a brat.’

‘You’d know all about being a brat, wouldn’t you?’ Ignis says dryly.

Prompto feels a rush of pleasure and self-consciousness intermingled at the reminder. Between Ignis and Gladiolus, she doesn’t stand much of a chance in getting away from this conversation with her dignity intact.

As if to prove her point, Gladio’s at her throat again — this time his hand delves into the fold of the bathrobe across her chest and he plucks at her nipple, twisting it just hard enough that she gives a soft gasp.

‘Would you like me to give you some privacy?’ Ignis asks.

The knowing tone in his voice is _infuriating._

Gladio must be able to hear the other end of the conversation better than Prompto had thought; he gives another tweak of her nipple and moves close to her ear, murmuring hotly into it.

‘You don’t need to hang up,’ he says. ‘Figure I can show this guy how good you got it with me…’

Prompto opens her mouth to chide him, but before she can get the words out he gives an almost savage tug of her nipple and she breaks off in a sharp moan.

 _‘Gladio,’_ she hisses, when she gets back control of her voice.

She hears Ignis laugh again, a little husky this time.

‘My, my,’ he says. ‘Your _friend_ is rather distracting, isn’t he?’

‘You could say that,’ Prompto mutters.

‘Why don’t you tell me what he’s doing that has you quite so hot and bothered?’

Heat prickles at Prompto’s face and neck. She almost wants to ask him if he’s serious — if he really wants a play-by-play — but saying it out loud is too embarrassing a prospect. It’s already bad enough that Gladio’s relentlessly teasing her, clearly intent on playing some sort of game now that Ignis is on the line.

Gladio’s teeth graze her ear, and his hand slips down, working at the tie of her robe where it’s knotted across her. It occurs to her that she could just tell him to stop, and he _would,_ but somehow her brain can’t quite seem to process the thought of putting an end to things when it feels so good.

‘Yeah, Prompto,’ Gladiolus says, brushing his fingertips through the curls between her legs. ‘Why don’t you tell him what I’m doin’?’

She opens her mouth with every intention of chastising him but again, all that makes it out is a shaky little moan as his fingers brush down between her folds.

‘Sounds like you’re having quite a bit of fun,’ Ignis says on the line. ‘Don’t stop on my account, pet.’

Something about the way he says _pet_ so commandingly, like he’s giving her permission to enjoy herself with Gladio, makes her pulse gush in her ears. She wonders if she should hang up and focus on Gladiolus’s busy hands, but Ignis _does_ seem to be pretty invested in what’s happening…

‘If you don’t tell him,’ Gladio purrs at her ear, ‘I’m more’n happy to.’

He uses his hand to guide her thighs apart and dips his fingers downward. Prompto can’t even deny that it feels good; traitorously, she’s already wet, and maybe she has to admit that having Ignis on the phone while all this is going on has helped speed things along.

‘H- he’s—’ she stammers, cutting off as Gladio sucks a hickey into her throat. ‘He’s touching me…’

She hears a soft sigh on the other end of the call, and she’s not sure what to make of it until she hears a faint rustling, like the sound of clothing being removed. Is he…?

‘Wonderful,’ Ignis says. ‘Darling, shall we play a game?’

‘A game?’ Prompto echoes.

At this, Gladio sits up; when she looks at him his eyebrows are raised with interest.

‘Yes,’ Ignis says. ‘I’ll admit I’m jealous I can’t be there to tend to you myself, but that doesn’t mean I can’t have my fun, too. Tell me, this — _Gladio,_ is it? Would you put him on the phone?’

Prompto wets her lips and meets Gladiolus’s eye. His head is cocked a little to the side; for the first time she sees how flushed his skin is, how dark his eyes have become.

‘He wants to speak to you,’ she murmurs.

With a nod, Gladio takes the phone.

It’s frustrating, Prompto decides, not being able to directly hear what Ignis is saying — she can catch little snippets of his voice, but he’s speaking so softly now that she can barely make out the words.

On this side of things, Gladiolus licks his lips and gives a slight nod.

‘All right,’ he says. ‘I’m down.’

Prompto moves to ask what, exactly, he’s _down_ for — but he pulls his hand from between her legs, closes the lid of his laptop, and gets to his feet. He nestles her phone between his ear and his shoulder, and with his other hand he reaches out to her.

She takes hold of it, bemused, and lets him lead her to the bedroom. He doesn’t give her anything by way of an explanation; just pats the edge of the bed for her to sit, flicks the light on, and sets the phone aside. He hurriedly strips out of his clothes — probably faster than she’s ever seen him disrobe — and climbs onto the bed, lies on his back, and sets the phone on speaker.

‘Can everyone hear me?’ Ignis’s voice rings out.

‘Yessir,’ Gladio says, with an ironic smirk.

He looks pointedly at Prompto, then pats the bed beside him.

‘Prompto?’ Ignis says.

Her throat has gone dry; she has to swallow, hard, before she finds her voice again.

‘Yeah,’ she says. ‘I can hear you.’

She’s still not entirely sure how things escalated to this as she takes a seat at the edge of the bed, twisting her fingers into the sheets.

‘Good,’ Ignis says. ‘Prompto — would you be so kind as to undress?’

She finds herself complying silently. She knows she could tag out of this, if she wanted to. She doesn’t.

‘When you’re ready,’ Ignis says, ‘I want you to straddle his thighs. Don’t touch him until I tell you to — and Gladio, don’t touch yourself, or her, either. Just lie back and watch.’

Again, she obeys; once she’s kneeling astride him it’s an exercise in self-restraint to keep her hands from his cock where it stands proud, evidently brought to attention by their game.

Gladiolus slips his arms under his head, propping himself up. It’s like he’s laid out on display for her — and on his lips he wears a cocky little smirk.

‘Okay,’ she says. ‘I’m… here.’

‘Good,’ Ignis replies. ‘Now, listen carefully. I want you to touch yourself — slowly, starting from your breasts and working down. Give him a good show.’

It’s a little embarrassing, doing this on command, but Prompto tries her best; she brings her hands to her breasts and squeezes them gently, then smooths her fingers towards the nipples, which she twists just hard enough to make her eyelids flutter closed with pleasure.

‘Jesus,’ Gladiolus mutters.

When Prompto opens her eyes to look at him, he’s gripping the sheets in his fists like it’s taking everything not to touch himself. Feeling a little emboldened, she nibbles at her lip and tilts her head to the side as she works. She keeps one hand at her breast; the other, she glides down her stomach and down to her thigh, dragging her nails gently upwards so they leave trails in her pale skin.

‘Tell me how good she looks, Gladio,’ Ignis prompts, a hint of a hitch in his voice.

‘She looks fuckin’ spectacular,’ Gladiolus says.

Ignis’s soft laughter comes over the line and it sends a thread of longing through Prompto.

‘Why don’t you describe what she’s doing?’ Ignis suggests.

At first Prompto thinks Gladio’s going to refuse. He looks uncharacteristically embarrassed, like it’s taking things one step over the line of what he’s comfortable with; he clears his throat, however, and lifts his head a little to get a better look.

‘She’s, uh,’ he begins, swallowing. ‘She’s got her hand on her thigh, like she’s waitin’ for you to give her permission or somethin’.’

Prompto’s cheeks feel hot. She hadn’t realised she was hesitating, her fingers brushing just up the inside of her leg.

‘You have my permission, pet,’ Ignis says.

Prompto bites so hard into her lip that it almost hurts, and she drags it out as she moves her hand upwards until her fingertips _finally_ brush through the slickness there. She blows out a slow, shuddering breath when her fingers hit her clit, and her eyes fall closed again as she twists once more at her nipple.

‘She’s still teasin’ her breast,’ Gladiolus says. ‘And she’s, uh, she’s touching her pussy, and she’s tilting her head back. She looks like a fucking goddess.’

Pleasure thrums through Prompto at Gladiolus’s words. She rewards him by parting her legs a little wider to show him just how wet she is, then she lifts her hand — still slick from her arousal — and flits her tongue out to lick her fingers clean.

‘She’s tastin’ herself,’ Gladio describes.

There’s a sharp sound over the line, like a gasp. Prompto can picture Ignis touching himself, steadily losing control — she just wishes he were _here._

‘Why don’t you give him a taste too, Prompto?’ Ignis says. ‘Touch yourself and let him taste from your fingertips.’

Prompto feels as though her limbs are guided by some carnal instinct as she moves her hand down again and dips it in. She looks down at herself, watches as the liquid beads against her fingertips, stretching into a thin, glimmering string as she pulls her hand away. She leans forward, bracing herself over Gladio with one hand while she brings the other up toward his mouth.

He opens his mouth for her like he’s desperate for it; like a man dying for a drop of water under the baking sun. When she doesn’t slip her fingers into his mouth right away, instead rubbing her wetness over his bottom lip, he gives an impatient groan and darts his tongue out to taste it. Once he’s cleaned it from his lip, Prompto guides her fingers into his mouth and lets him suck on them hungrily, greedily.

There’s a wet, slick sound; she glances down and he’s stroking his cock, his hand smearing precum over the head of it.

‘Gladio’s touching himself,’ Prompto says. ‘I don’t think you told him he could…’

Gladio grips her wrist, pulls her fingers free of his lips. He’s wearing a snarky little grin as he holds her tight, yanking her hand playfully to the side.

‘Teacher’s pet,’ he snarls.

‘Dear, dear,’ Ignis says. ‘That won’t do at all. Gladio, _do_ try to behave yourself. It would be a shame for Prompto to have to punish you.’

Gladiolus gives a shrug, smirking mischievously.

‘I’unno,’ he says. ‘Kinda sounds like fun.’

‘Why don’t we pick up where we left off before?’ Ignis suggests. _‘If_ Gladio can control himself.’

Gladiolus is still holding her by the wrist; she tugs, and he resists for just a moment with that devilish look on his face before finally letting go. When she delves her hand down between her legs again, Gladio props his arms safely under his head once more.

‘You still want me to talk you through it?’ Gladio asks.

‘Please.’

‘She’s spreading herself open,’ Gladio says. ‘She’s teasin’ herself now.’

Ignis makes a soft sound of approval.

‘Prompto,’ he says. ‘Put your fingers inside yourself. And take your time — might as well make Gladio wish it were him instead.’

Prompto wets her lips and does as she’s told, guiding her first two fingers between her folds. She makes a low moan of pleasure as she does so, and it’s worth it just to see the way Gladio’s eyes go wide at the sound.

She slides them in and out, her other hand moving to her clit and picking up slow circles over it. She holds Gladiolus’s gaze for as long as she can until the pleasure gets to be too much and she has to close her eyes.

‘Gladio,’ Ignis says suddenly, impatiently.

There’s a gruff cough from Gladiolus.

‘Uh, right,’ he says. ‘Got a little distracted. Sorry. She’s fucking herself with her fingers now, an’ touchin’ herself slowly… She’s biting her lip like she’s tryin’ not to make a sound.’

‘That doesn’t sound like much fun at all,’ Ignis says. ‘Be as loud as you want, pet. We want to hear it.’

Prompto releases her teeth from her lip with a sigh. With her eyes still closed — she’s entertaining herself with a mental image of Ignis here, Gladiolus lazily playing with Ignis's cock — she starts to work her fingers faster into herself, until a gasp escapes her lips of its own accord.

‘That’s it,’ Ignis says.

‘She’s going faster,’ Gladio says. ‘She’s movin’ her hips. Jesus, buddy, you gonna let me touch myself or what? I’m dyin’ here.’

Ignis gives a laugh.

‘Prompto,’ he says. ‘Do you think he’s earned it?’

Prompto opens her eyes and looks at Gladiolus; sees him lying back, twitching where he lies. His skin, turned to burnished gold by the sun, is covered in a sheen of sweat.

‘I think so,’ she murmurs.

‘All right,’ Ignis replies. ‘You can touch yourself, Gladio — _slowly.’_

There’s nothing slow about Gladiolus’s pace as he slips an arm out from under his head and moves his hand down to his erection, gripping it tight. For a little while he seems to take pleasure in getting the whole length of him slick with the precum leaking profusely from his slit, and his eyes remain on her all the while, watching her where her fingers still thrust within.

‘He said _slowly,_ babe,’ Prompto teases.

She takes his hand and moderates the pace, and maybe it’s the fact that she’s taking charge or maybe it’s just her touch, but Gladio huffs out a breath and screws up his eyes like he’s having the best time in the world.

A little grudgingly, she removes her hand and returns it to herself — but Gladio keeps up the new, slower pace, drawing it out, and the slow, slick sounds of skin on skin fill the room and make the hairs prickle at the back of Prompto’s neck.

‘Prompto,’ Ignis says. His voice is a little gruff, like he’s struggling to remain coherent. ‘Let Gladio fuck you with his fingers.’

A chill of delight winds down Prompto’s spine; she moves up the bed so she’s sitting astride Gladio’s hips where he touches himself, and he’s all too quick to give in to Ignis’s command, replacing Prompto’s fingers with his own. They’re thicker than hers, and longer, and as he curls them into her she can’t help giving a high-pitched whine of pleasure.

‘Ah, yes,’ Ignis breathes. ‘Tell me how he feels inside you, darling.’

‘H- he feels so good,’ Prompto stutters.

‘Are you still touching yourself?’

Prompto wonders, blearily, how she could _not_ be in all of this. With Gladio’s fingers buried within her, his other hand gliding wetly over his dick — and with the distant but no less satisfying sound of Ignis’s heavy breathing on the line — she’s pretty sure she’d die if she weren’t touching herself right now.

‘Yeah,’ she says, breathlessly.

‘Good,’ is Ignis’s laboured response. ‘Tell me when you’re close.’

Where the night started out with teasing and cocky requests, it seems none of them have much inclination to keep up the chatter; Prompto’s certainly preoccupied with Gladio’s touch, and with keeping up her own rhythm. When she looks down at Gladiolus he’s alternating between watching her with heavy-lidded eyes and screwing his eyes shut, tipping his head back whenever a wave of pleasure hits.

It’s seeing this — and hearing a choked sound from Ignis — that sets Prompto off, and she can feel that telltale waves-about-to-crest sensation that tells her that her release is imminent.

‘Close,’ she manages to blurt, her voice hoarse and raw.

Gladio gets there before her, arching back so artfully that she couldn’t have put off her climax even if she’d wanted to. She watches him throw his head back and groan, low and wanton, as thick ropes of cum spill onto his toned stomach; even as the thrust of his fingers falters, she feels her orgasm wash over her, dragging a whimper from her lips as she bucks into it.

Ignis is last of all, though by no means least; his shout of pleasure comes over the line and seems to ricochet through the room, the sound of a normally restrained man giving in to abandon.

In the aftermath of it — as the sounds of their efforts die down and the room falls into silence — Prompto feels heat flood her cheeks as bashfulness overcomes her. She’s never done anything like this with one partner, let alone two. Somehow, it feels like they’ve crossed some unspoken boundary.

She’s not entirely sure what it means.

Gently, Gladiolus slips his fingers free of her and rests his hand on her thigh with a sleepy smile.

‘Gonna be selfish here and ask you to hang up,’ he says, with a glance toward the phone, ‘so I can kiss the hell outta my girl.’

Prompt hears Ignis’s snort across the line. Whether it was Gladio’s intention to stake claim of her or not, it sure came across that way, but Ignis doesn’t seem to mind.

‘Of course,’ he says. ‘Far be it for me to intrude. Prompto — I'll catch up with you again soon. Enjoy your evening…’

There’s a beep over the speaker as the call disconnects, and true to his word Gladiolus reaches up and wraps his arms around Prompto, pulling her down on top of him. He seems heedless of the mess on his belly; after a moment, she forgets all about it sandwiched between them. There’s a heat to his kisses — an urgency that she can’t help but think was prompted by the events of the evening. She’s not complaining, anyway, as Gladiolus tongue slips into her mouth and he gives a soft moan against her lips, wrapping her tight in his embrace like even _this_ isn’t close enough to her.

She wonders if he’s thinking of starting another round, but then he pulls away and gives a soft smile, lying back with a contented sigh.

After, when they’ve managed to clean up and wriggle under the covers together, and she lies with her head supported by his chest, she plays a hand across his collarbone and smirks to herself.

‘Surprised you went along with that,’ she says wryly.

He gives a shrug; slips his arm around her and nestles her head under his chin.

‘You had fun, though, didn’t you?’

Prompto finds she can’t argue. With a happy sigh, she touches a kiss to Gladio’s chest and closes her eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to [fairygodpiggy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairygodpiggy/) for help with wording a certain line ;)


	12. The Market

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was going to be Kinktober day 19, but I thought I'd throw in something a little more fluffy/romantic/domestic to give you all a break from the smut (and lbr to give _me_ a chance to recharge my batteries too).

The second time Ignis sends her a gift, it’s another extravagantly wrapped package, this one bigger than the last. She’s heading out the door when she finds it in the hallway on the welcome mat — a black satin box wrapped in a big black and red ribbon.

She knows it’s from him even before she inspect the card; she’s so eager to see what’s inside that she sets it aside without checking it as her hands tug the ribbon open.

It’s not lingerie this time; not pale pink chiffon, delicate and pretty. Instead it’s a dress of deep blue, made of sumptuous fabric that she doesn’t even know the name of. When she lifts it out of the box to look at it properly, she sees that the bodice is embellished with silver embroidery and studded with pearls.

It  _ feels _ like luxury, and she’s scared to even imagine how much something like this must have cost. There are silver lace heels in the bottom of the box, too, and they look pricey enough that she could easily see them running her a week’s wages.

Delicately, she lowers the dress back into the box and turns her attention at last to the card. The paper is made of the same black and deep red as the ribbon on the box; when Prompto opens it, she immediately spots Ignis’s looping script within.

_ Darling, _

_ It would give me great pleasure to have your company at the Caelum Institute Charity Gala next weekend. It’s a bit of a formal event, hence the dress —  I know you’ll likely balk at the price tag, but I really couldn’t resist when I saw it. The blue reminded me of your eyes. _

_ — Ignis _

There’s so much for Prompto to digest: the  _ darling, _ the comment about her eyes, the fact that he’s whisking her off to some fancy gala — she’s not even sure what a gala  _ is. _ The dress itself is stunning, and once again he seems to know her measurements by eye, so she has no doubt it’ll fit her just fine.

If she  _ does _ take him up on his invitation, she’ll have her work cut out for her with hair and makeup. It doesn’t exactly sound like the sort of event that her usual red eyeshadow and cat eye wing would go over well.

There’s a subtle scent on the card and it throws her back back for a moment; wandering hands and hot kisses. It takes her a little while to realise it’s the lingering scent of Ignis’s cologne, and as it fills her nostrils it makes her heart squeeze.

She’ll show Iris later — no doubt her friend will have some invaluable hair and makeup advice to offer — but for now she puts the box away in her room and heads for the door. She has a date with Gladio; she can get back to Ignis later.

Gladiolus is waiting for her on his motorcycle outside, a spare helmet at the ready as she ventures over. It’ll be her first time riding it and she’s a little nervous — even if she  _ does _ trust Gladio with her life.

‘You glad to have your baby back?’ she asks, gently patting the bodywork.

Gladio grins.

‘You bet.’

He hands the spare helmet over and shows Prompto how to pull it on properly before patting the seat behind him.

She shifts her weight onto one hip and lifts her other hand to the helmet to make sure it’s still in place; it’s heavier than she’d expected, so it’ll take some getting used to.

Prompto tries to tell herself it’s not all that different from riding a bike as they cross town. Gladio, at least, takes things relatively slow — it’s disconcerting to have the speed and direction out of her control, and every time they make a turn she finds herself gritting her teeth in anticipation, forced to trust in Gladio’s intuition.

When they arrive at their destination she’s a little tense from holding on so tightly, and even though she’s so used to being on two wheels all week she finds herself wobbly on her feet when she climbs off and removes her helmet.

‘You know you kept pulling on me whenever we were supposed to turn,’ Gladiolus says once he has his helmet off. ‘It was cute.’

‘Ha-ha,’ Prompto deadpans. ‘Make fun of the girl in genuine fear for her life.’

‘Wasn’t so bad,’ Gladio quips. ‘Figure it’s a good day when we only almost die twice.’

He’s kidding, of course, but Prompto’s still shaken up. There  _ were _ a few genuine scares for her where she thought they were closer to the traffic they were passing than they actually were, but they managed to get away scot-free each time.

At least Gladiolus’s grip is grounding and sure as he takes her hand and they walk side-by-side. They’re headed to a street market, and there’ll be plenty to distract Prompto from her brush with mortal peril.

‘I’ve lived in Insomnia all this time and I can’t believe it’s taken me this long to come here,’ she muses.

‘Used to come out here with Iris all the time when we were kids,’ Gladio says. ‘I wonder if that place with the stuffed ponies is still here…’

The sign advertising the market’s presence is painted on an archway over the street, from which there hang a number of paper lanterns that are already lit up in anticipation of nightfall. The place is crammed full — people young and old mill between the stalls — and between the busy sounds of the crowd and the market going about its routine, there’s a lively aura that makes Prompto’s heart soar.

She remembered to bring her camera this time, nestling it safely in her backpack before she left her place — she pulls it out now and snaps off a shot of the sign, and steals one of Gladiolus when he’s looking off to the side before he realises what she’s doing.

She takes pictures of the stalls as they go, too: of vendors selling everything from food to jewellery to hand-carved wooden furniture. She snaps shots of the crowd, and even manages to capture an action picture of a pigeon stealing food from somebody as they walk along.

‘Hey, Prom,’ Gladiolus says, pointing ahead of them. ‘Found your poison.’

It’s a stall stocking gothic and witchy clothing and accessories — tacky stuff, adorned with skulls and chains, everything looking like it stepped straight out of the mid-2000s.

Prompto twists to look up at him and pokes out her tongue. He laughs, and stretches over to kiss her head before leading her over.

She has to admit, as she browses the goods, that she probably would have gladly dropped her entire allowance on a place like this when she was in high school. Even now, as a twenty-five-year old adult —  _ supposedly _ — she can’t help admiring some of it.

She’s checking out a black muscle shirt with a silver star on the front of it when Gladio touches her elbow; when she turns to him he’s got the tackiest, most garish ring in his grasp, complete with a skull with black crystals for eyes.

‘That’s the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen,’ Prompto says.

Gladio takes her hand with mock solemnity and slips the ring onto her middle finger.

‘I know,’ he says. ‘Made me think of you.’

She snorts, and he keeps up the somber tone as he steps closer and cups her cheek, leaning in to give her a sweet kiss. Even with the vendor looking on, laughing heartily, the kiss makes Prompto’s heart race.

When Gladiolus pulls away, Prompto takes a look at the ring on her hand. It’s still the tackiest thing she’s ever seen but somehow, because Gladio put it there, she decides she kind of likes it.

The vendor’s still laughing as Gladio pays up; he waves when they leave.

‘You wanna grab a bite?’ Gladio suggests.

The market forks into two: down the right side are more wares, and down the left are dozens of food and drinks stands. They meander toward a vendor selling vegan Mexican food which smells too heavenly to pass up, and they grab burritos with all the trimmings with soda to wash it down.

It’s the messiest food to eat standing up, but Prompto thinks that’s part of the fun as she attempts not to spill salsa down herself. Gladiolus seems to have no reservations and devours his food with gusto.

‘So Ignis invited me to this big charity ball thing,’ Prompto says idly. ‘Next weekend.’

‘Damn,’ Gladio says. ‘Shoulda got you a bigger ring…’

Prompto laughs and swats at him. A second later he’s slinging his arm around her and hugging her tight to his side as they walk, careful not to spill his soda on her.

‘You gonna go?’ he asks. ‘Never really saw you as the ball type.’

Prompto shrugs. Truth is, even though she’s pretty sure she’ll stick out there like a sore thumb, she’s a little excited about showing up to something so fancy on Ignis’s arm. 

‘I guess?’ she says. ‘You okay with it?’

She finds herself unconsciously holding her breath while she waits for Gladiolus’s response. She feels like she’s still waiting for the other shoe to drop; waiting for Gladio to say it’s too much.

He seems convincing enough when he lifts his shoulders in a shrug, however.

‘Why wouldn’t I be?’

The subject drops before Prompto has the chance to overthink it, and after finishing up their food they take to browsing the stalls again in earnest. Gladiolus finds the stuffed pony vendor he’d mentioned earlier, still trucking over a decade later, and Prompto helps him pick out a pink toy with a studded collar to bring back for Iris.

It’s starting to get dark by the time they make a full circuit of the market, and bit by bit more lanterns light up about the place the give it a cosy glow. Prompto spends a little while taking more photos, and steadily the crowd begins to wind down.

‘What time does this place close up?’ Prompto asks.

Gladio checks the time on his phone and makes a quick glance about their surroundings.

‘Nine, I think,’ he replies. ‘You wanna head home?’

Prompto shakes her head. She’s having too good of a time — it’s nice to actually go on a date together that doesn’t involve camping out on the sofa.

‘Not just yet,’ she says. ‘Unless you want to…’

He takes her hand and gives a nod toward the end of the market; tugs her along gently, and she falls happily into step beside him.

‘It’s a little ways, but you can get to the Grand Canal from here on foot,’ he says.

It’s Saturday evening, late enough that there are only a few straggling shoppers around and too early for the night crowd to come out. They have the city mostly to themselves as they traipse the streets, chattering as they walk before lapsing from time to time into comfortable silence.

Prompto’s been to the canal so many times she’s lost count — and has come by here at night on more than a handful of occasions — but she can’t help thinking there’s something romantic about it tonight as they stroll alongside it, underneath the old-fashioned street lamps hanging along the water’s edge.

On the far side of the waterway, Prompto can see the glittering commercial district with fashion stores lit up to entice wandering browsers in from the streets; stopping by the barrier for a moment, she takes a photo of the view and carefully tucks her camera away again.

‘Thanks for coming with me, by the way,’ she says, slinging her backpack on once more. ‘Y’know… yesterday. Sorry for almost passing out on top of you.’

Gladiolus gives a sympathetic laugh. When he slips his arm around her shoulders and touches his lips to her forehead, she feels as safe and secure as she did the day before when he’d come with her to her gyno. For all her wimpiness over it — she’d only been getting birth control fitted, but it had hurt like  _ a bitch _ — she’d been grateful to have him there to support her.

‘No big deal,’ he murmurs, muffling his voice in her hair. ‘Just glad I could be there for you.’

She sighs into his shoulder and slips her arms around his waist, underneath his jacket. He’s irresistibly warm in contrast with the chill of the evening; she’d be happy if she could stay like this all night.

A stillness settles over them: comfortable and familiar. Prompto tries, again, not to do the whole overthinking thing.

‘Hey.’

She lifts her head to find Gladio looking down at her. His expression is a little weird — worried, maybe. Like clockwork, she feels her stomach drop.

‘Yeah?’ she murmurs, trying to hide the fear in her voice.

He brushes a hand through her hair, and she thinks this is it — the moment, the point where it all comes crashing down — but instead he just smiles at her like everything is right with the world.

‘I had a great time,’ he says. ‘I’m sorry we don’t get out too much.’

Prompto blows out a breath in relief.

‘Nah, you don’t need to apologise,’ she counters. ‘You work crazy hours. I’m just glad I get to spend time with you when I can.’

With a sigh, Gladio shakes his head.

‘Still, though. Wanna try to make more time to do stuff like this together.’

They take up walking again — hand in hand, sticking comfortably close. She won’t argue that she’d like to spend more time doing actual date stuff with Gladiolus, but she doesn’t fault him for it. It’s been so long since she’s been with someone, anyway, that she’s grateful for what she can get.

It’s got her thinking, though: she’s stayed over at his place so many times now that she knows where he keeps the good coffee he doesn’t put out for visitors, and he was there to hold her hand — figuratively and literally — while she had her doc scraping around inside her. It’s probably about time she starts trying to figure out what it is they have together.

Prompto finds herself opening her mouth to ask before she even registers she’s doing it; as she draws in a sharp breath, however, she wusses out. She knows  _ she’s _ catching feelings — but what if Gladio’s happy keeping things undefined?

‘You say something?’ Gladio asks, twisting his head to look at her. In the lamplight overhead, his amber eyes glimmer gold.

‘Nope,’ she says briskly, shaking her head. ‘Nothing at all.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ignis is at it again! Prompto's catching feels! Only six chapters left!


	13. The Gala

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Kinktober Day 19 — _Public/Formal Wear_**
> 
> In which Cam continues to fall further behind on these prompts -_- Parenthood is hard, y'all.

‘Stop touching your hair! You’re gonna make it all greasy.’

Iris looks like she’s about twelve seconds away from slapping Prompto’s hand; hurriedly, Prompto drops it from where she’d been nervously twirling a strand of hair around it.

She knows her friend is right — Iris spent long enough curling bits of it with a wand and setting it all with hairspray that even Prompto doesn’t want to have to go through that ordeal again — and yet as soon as Iris’s back is turned, she’s unconsciously back at it again.

‘Are you sure the red is okay?’ Iris asks.

Holding her dress to herself, she twirls to face Prompto — who just manages to remove her hand from her hair before she earns another reprimand — and makes a little pose. It’s a long, flowing gown of crimson satin, ruched at the bust, with a train that skirts the floor. With Iris’s colouring and petite figure it looks  _ stunning. _

There’s not a whole lot about Iris that doesn’t seem designed to inspire awe tonight; she wears her dark hair in soft waves about her face, and her false eyelashes and dark eye makeup give her amber eyes the impression of being  _ huge. _

‘Dude,’ Prompto says flatly. ‘We’ve been over this. You’re gonna walk in there and the music’s going to screech to a halt.’

Although Prompto has yet to say it out loud, she’s especially glad Iris is coming if only so that it might divert a little attention from  _ her; _ when Ignis had asked if she’d like to bring a friend along for company in case he got dragged away to talk business, she had jumped at the chance.

That, and she knows Iris will figure out a way to make the night enjoyable, even while Prompto makes herself sick with nerves.

‘You’re kidding, right?’ Iris protests, one dark, perfectly styled eyebrow arched high. ‘I did  _ not _ spend hours on your hair and makeup so every eye in that place wouldn’t be on you.’

Prompto tries not to picture a hundred strangers’ faces all turned toward her, all scrutinising her, all staring at her arm hooked through Ignis’s. Maybe tonight’s a mistake… 

‘Oh, no,’ Iris says sternly. ‘I know that face. You’re  _ not _ flaking.’

She still has her dress over one arm as she strides across the room to Prompto’s side. She’s filled with a furious sort of energy that Prompto knows better than to mess with.

‘Tonight’s going to be amazing,’ Iris says, matter of fact. ‘I  _ swear. _ And you are not bailing on this because I wanna go, damn it.’

This startles a laugh out of Prompto, and it’s enough to snap her out of it for the moment. With a sigh, she lets Iris pull her into her arm and squeeze her in a hug.

‘Thanks, Iris,’ Prompto murmurs, ducking her chin down against her friend’s shoulder. ‘I guess if worse comes to worst, I can just get drunk…’

‘Right!’ Iris says brightly. 

Prompto saves her dress for last, a little afraid that she’ll sweat all over the pretty blue fabric. The back’s done up in little eyelet hooks so Iris has to help her into it; she figures, all going well,  _ Ignis _ will be the one helping her out of it again.

When she gets a text to say the car is outside, she feels the first real pang of dread set in. She checks herself in the mirror again for good measure — Iris has given her a subtle smokey eye with a delicate pop of highlight on the inner corners, and a soft lip gloss; her hair, meanwhile, is in a sleek bun to the side of her head, while curls frame her face — and once she’s happy, she grabs her shawl and her purse and motions for the door.

‘Okay,’ she says. ‘Let’s get out of here before I change my mind.’

* * *

Iris spends most of the car ride whining that Ignis isn’t there with them, although they both concede that he more than made up for it with the champagne and chocolates he left for them.

Prompto can’t help but fidget a little in anticipation of their arrival at the venue. She’s already filled her head with all manner of daydreams — nightmares, really — about what it’s going to be like with so many eyes on her. When Iris casually suggests that events like this usually have a red carpet entrance, Prompto’s anxiety multiplies tenfold.

‘We’re here, ladies,’ Dino says, rolling the car to a halt.

Prompto blinks. The street outside looks empty — in fact, when she squints through the tinted glass, she’s not even sure they’re  _ on _ the street. They seem to be at a service entrance behind the building proper. It’s not quite what she was expecting.

‘Are you sure we’re—’ she asks, but she breaks off as the door on her side pops open.

They  _ are _ behind the building, but the service entrance is dressed up like the gymnasium for senior prom: there’s a short stretch of carpet in deep red, extending from the car to the door beside it; the whole place is strung up with twinkle lights in the shape of stars.

When Prompto peeps her head outside, she finds Ignis standing there waiting for her in a grey satin-trim tuxedo, his hair styled into a pompadour. He extends a hand to her; a little lost for words, she accepts it and lets him help her out.

‘I thought you might prefer to avoid the front entrance,’ he says with a smile. ‘The press can be a bit daunting when you’re not used to the limelight.’

At the other side of the car, Dino opens the door to let Iris out. She looks similarly taken aback when Prompto meets her eye.

‘You look wonderful,’ Ignis says, drawing her attention back to him with a squeeze of her hand.

He turns to Iris then as he slips away from Prompto, and he extends a hand for her to shake. Iris looks remarkably put-together as she approaches him, but Prompto knows that, internally, her friend is probably losing it over meeting somebody so famous.

‘Ignis,’ he says, as her hand clasps his. ‘A pleasure.’

‘Iris,’ she replies. ‘Prompto’s told me  _ all _ about you.’

Prompto feels her stomach jolt as Ignis glances towards her with a hint of a smirk on his lips.

‘Is that so?’ he asks mischievously.

‘You look great,’ Prompto blurts, in an effort to change the subject. ‘But… you always do.’

She can practically  _ hear _ Iris roll her eyes.

Ignis turns then and slips his arm through Prompto’s with a nod of his head toward the door.

‘Shall we?’

Maybe Prompto’s a little light-headed from the champagne, but the whole thing feels dreamlike as Ignis leads her and Iris up to the building and a doorman lets them in with a polite tip of his head. It feels as though the night is just for them and no one else.

Through the doorway and down a short corridor, they find themselves at the rear of a grand hall with marble flooring and a staggeringly high ceiling. The upper floors are open, bounded by marble balustrades; on this floor, there’s string music playing, and more people milling about than Prompto can begin to count.

‘So this is the Caelum Institute,’ Iris says with an impressed nod. ‘Fancy.’

Prompto blinks around the place. She’d never heard of it prior to Ignis’s invitation.

‘It’s… nice,’ she says flatly. ‘What is it exactly?’

Iris snorts, but Ignis seems to take Prompto’s question earnestly.

‘The Caelums are old money in Insomnia,’ he says. ‘They’ve put their wealth into a lot of charitable ventures over the years — this institute being but one of them. It’s a school for the arts, for students who can’t afford university tuition, have poor grades, and so on.’

‘They have scholarships for kids who dropped out due to chronic or mental illness,’ Iris adds. ‘It’s, like, a pretty big deal. Remember that ball I dragged you to back in college? That was in aid of this place.’

Prompto remembers the ball, sure — but most of her memories from that night are of an extracurricular nature.

Beside her, Ignis clears his throat sharply.

‘I’m going to have to mingle for a little while, I’m afraid,’ he says. His cheeks are tinged pink. ‘Can I trust you to keep yourselves entertained until I’m back?’

Prompto pouts, but she doesn’t argue. She knows this is the nature of Ignis’s life, and has been since long before they ever met.

‘All right,’ she says. ‘But don’t stay away too long. I might do something embarrassing like… stepping on the toes of royalty.’

Ignis smirks and leans close to brush his lips against her cheek.

‘No royalty tonight,’ he says.

‘Still plenty of famous people to make a fool of yourself in front of, though,’ Iris supplies, helpful as always.

Once Ignis is gone, they flock to the open bar. Prompto wonders, while they wait, if she can justify ordering a drink for each of her hands; she’s pretty sure she’ll need it to get through the night.

She’s deliberating between continuing with the champagne and switching to clear spirits when she twists to turn to Iris, and bumps into somebody behind her in the process. There’s a soft grunt of surprise, and she immediately turns with an apology ready at her lips.

‘Whoa!’ the man behind her blurts, before she gets a chance.

He’s probably about their age, the slight scattering of stubble across his jaw obscuring a youthful face. Jaw-length dark hair hangs somewhat rakishly, falling into his eyes, and he looks like he couldn’t be more uncomfortable in his black tux with gold accents, even perfectly tailored to his build as it is.

His apologetic smile is genuine, however, and his crystal-blue eyes are kind as they meet Prompto’s.

‘Sorry,’ he says quickly. ‘Really, really sorry. Are you okay?’

Prompto gives a hurried nod.

‘I’m fine,’ she says. ‘Sorry, I should’ve been paying attention.’

He gives her — and Iris, a moment later — a polite nod before slipping past them toward the far side of the bar. 

‘Whoa,’ Iris says.

‘Was he somebody I’m supposed to know?’ Prompto asks, dropping her voice so only Iris can hear.

Iris shrugs her shoulders.

‘Hell if I know,’ she says. ‘He sure was pretty, though.’

They find a quiet corner to squirrel themselves into once they’ve claimed their drinks, far enough from the heart of things that they can safely people-watch. It’s been barely ten minutes and Prompto’s already wondering when Ignis will find his way back to her; she’s more grateful than ever that Iris is here for company.

* * *

Even once she gets Ignis back, it’s not long before people start flocking to  _ him. _ Prompto tries to take up as little space as possible whenever this happens, but it seems inevitable that she becomes the subject of conversation.

Some people are polite — they introduce themselves, or ask Ignis to do the honours; others are more brash, stating that they don’t recognise her, as though her obscurity is a source of consternation for them.

Ignis seems to show no shame in bringing a  _ nobody _ along to such a prestigious event. He takes pride in telling them all about how they first met, and how she’s a gifted amateur photographer, and even Prompto’s ears start to burn from the praise.

It’s still exhausting, however — the introductions, the chitchat. Just when she’s starting to flag, Ignis asks if she and Iris would like to step away for a breather.

‘That’s okay,’ Iris says, nodding her head toward the crowd. ‘Pretty sure I just spotted the mayor. Gonna go see if I can bend his ear for a minute…’ 

Ignis offers Prompto his arm; once she takes hold of it, he leads her deftly through the crowd and takes her down a hallway off the grand hall, passing other rooms full of mingling guests, until they reach a set of glass doors opening out onto a patio. It’s a lot quieter outside — there are people out here, too, chatting quietly or smoking, and the contrast from the hum of voices and music inside makes Prompto’s head vibrate.

‘Better?’ he asks.

She responds with a grateful nod.

It’s chilly out, so she slips her shawl up from where she’s had it draped at her elbows; Ignis gently helps her settle it over her shoulders and when she’s done, he touches her cheek and smiles.

‘I wanted to give something to you earlier,’ he says, ‘but it didn’t feel right when Iris was there.’

He pulls away and Prompto watches as he slips his hand into his breast pocket and withdraws a jewellery box wrapped with a ribbon. She doesn’t need to ask to know it’s a gift for her, and even though Prompto wants to protest that he doesn’t need to keep spending money on her, there’s a little thrill of excitement in her as he presents the box to her and pops it open.

Inside, there’s a cameo necklace, a little over an inch high, with an intricate carving of a hummingbird in flight. Prompto doesn’t recognise the gemstone it’s carved into, but it’s a pale, perfect blue, and when Ignis lifts it from the box it’s slightly translucent in the lamplight of the terrace.

‘I hope you don’t mind,’ he says, with a bit of a twinkle in his eye. ‘I spotted it in an antiques shop when I was in Prague and couldn’t resist.’

She lets him slip the necklace on and lifts the loose strands of hair at her neck so that he can fasten the clasp; once this is done, Ignis touches a delicate kiss to her nape. The touch makes her shiver pleasantly.

‘It’s beautiful,’ she murmurs, glancing down at the pendant where it sits just above her cleavage. ‘Thank you.’

‘A fitting gift for you, then,’ Ignis purrs.

He’s still behind her; she feels his lips touch her shoulder where the shawl has slipped away.

‘You’re going to have to stop spoiling me, someday,’ she says with a laugh.

She twists to face him, and he takes the opportunity to slip his arms around her waist. He smells good — he  _ always _ smells good — and his touch is warm even through his jacket. Almost unconsciously, she takes a step forward and sinks into his arms, resting her head against his shoulder.

‘This is nice,’ she says. ‘Just us two. I felt a little… out of place in there.’

Ignis makes a soft sound; it might be agreement.

‘You comported yourself admirably,’ he replies. ‘Although I  _ am _ sorry if you felt uncomfortable. Perhaps tonight wasn’t the best way to introduce you to my lifestyle.’

Prompto laughs and tilts her head back to look up at him. He uses a gentle touch to brush her hair out of her face and skirts his thumb gently down her cheek.

‘You truly are breathtaking,’ he says. ‘I’m sure you’ll dismiss it as hyperbole, but you’re the most stunning woman here tonight.’

At this Prompto snorts, and she regrets it immediately as she draws the attention of a man standing a little away with a drink in one hand and his phone in the other. She gives him an apologetic smile and shrinks into herself as she looks back to Ignis.

‘You  _ would _ say that,’ she retorts. ‘Kinda hard to believe at a gala  _ full _ of beautiful people.’

‘If your game is to trick me into lavishing you with compliments,’ Ignis says humorously, ‘I’m more than happy to oblige. I’m not sure I could ever tire of telling you how beautiful you are.’

It’s a corny line; somehow, on Ignis’s lips, he manages to pull it off and make it sound appropriately romantic. He earns himself a kiss, which Prompto steps up onto her tiptoes to give him — she feels his arms hug a little tighter around her waist as she does so.

What begins as a chaste kiss doesn’t remain that way for long as Prompto feels Ignis’s hand smooth down the small of her back and over the curve of her ass, kneading gently at her through her dress. The contact is enough to send need rippling through her, and the effect is only heightened as his tongue finds its way into her mouth, dancing against hers.

If they were alone out here, Prompto’s sure Ignis would have her pressed up against the wall right now.

She breaks away from his mouth with a needy little sound and looks into his eyes, finding them just as dark with lust as she’s certain hers are.

‘We should stop,’ she whispers. ‘If you get me too worked up, I’m gonna have to drag you home with me.’

His lips curl into a smile — even  _ that _ sends heat through her — and he steps away, taking her hand instead.

‘Perhaps you’re right,’ he says. ‘We’ve hardly had a chance to enjoy the night.’

Iris isn’t where they left her when they return to the hall, but Prompto isn’t surprised. She’s probably schmoozing with some Insomnia celebrity at this very moment —  _ networking, _ as she’d call it. Just in case, Prompto sends a text to ask if she’s okay, and gets a single word in response:  _ ‘Bar.’ _

Prompto has to stretch up in her heels to see across the room, but she can’t see any sign of Iris or her red dress among the crowd. She turns back to Ignis and nods her head towards the bar.

‘I’m gonna try to find Iris,’ she says. ‘You wanna come with me to the bar?’

It doesn’t take too long to find Iris when they venture over; somewhat of a crowd has gathered around her, and she stands with a flute of champagne in one hand and an hors d’ouevre in the other, chatting animatedly with those around her in between bites of her food and sips from her glass.

‘I think she’s doing okay,’ Prompto says with a laugh. It figures Iris would be fitting in here just fine.

‘Would you like a drink?’ Ignis asks.

Prompto thinks on it for a moment. The champagne they’re serving here is  _ delicious, _ but she’s just the right balance between sober and tipsy. The last thing she needs is to succumb to her usual lightweight tendencies and make a fool of herself.

‘No thanks,’ she says. ‘I think I’m gonna pace myself for a while.’

He nods in understanding.

‘A dance, then?’ he suggests.

Prompto looks around; even though there’s a quartet playing, she can’t see anybody dancing. She gives Ignis a suspicious glance — as though reading her mind, he gives a melodic laugh and gestures across the hall to a large set of double doors.

‘This performance is for ambiance,’ he says. ‘Some of the Institute’s musically-adept are playing songs to waltz to elsewhere, if you’d like to give it a try.’

_ Emphasis on ‘try’, _ Prompto thinks. She wrinkles her nose; she’s not much good at throwing shapes at a club, let alone tackling the waltz.

‘I’ll talk you through it,’ Ignis says. ‘Just follow my lead.’

She’s still dubious as he takes her through the building to a ballroom, from which the lively strains of music float through the air. There are spectators watching along the edges, sipping drinks and chattering softly; occupying the dancefloor are a multitude of dancing couples, gliding elegantly across the floor.

‘Are you sure about this?’ Prompto asks, chewing her lip. ‘It doesn’t look like a beginner dance.’

Ignis gives a charming laugh and takes her hand. He leads her back out into the hallway, where he takes her slowly through the steps — right foot back, left foot back, right foot to left; left foot forward, right foot forward, left to right. Once Prompto can mimic these with relative aptitude, he directs her right hand onto his shoulder, slips his left around her shoulder blade, and takes his other hand in his own, before walking her through the steps a couple of times.

It’s not so bad once Prompto knows the anatomy of the dance, and Ignis is a thoughtful lead. Soon, she’s pretty sure she has it down well enough not to make a total fool of herself out on the floor.

She drops her things off first, leaving them with an acquaintance of Ignis who seems all too happy to hang onto her belongings, and then they head for the dancefloor.

It’s a different prospect once she’s actually out there, of course, and her first concern is trying not to bump into anybody. Ignis finds a relatively empty spot, guides Prompto’s hands into place, and begins to lead her once more.

At first, Prompto’s so fixated on the steps that she keeps screwing up — keeps almost stepping on his feet, keeps mixing up which leg is supposed to move, keeps staring down at Ignis’s shoes to follow them. She’s pretty sure she’s pissing Ignis off, but he remains patient as ever; he brings her to a halt, letting go of her hands so that he can touch her chin, gently lifting her face so that she’s looking into his eyes.

‘Don’t worry so much about what our feet are doing,’ he says. ‘I’m leading, remember? Just listen to the music, and follow me.’

It takes a while — and Prompto doesn’t see much of an improvement until she realises there are beats in the music that line up with Ignis’s steps. She’s never had much of a sense of rhythm, but it’s easy enough to pick it up once this step falls into place, and soon she finds she can move along with Ignis with minimal hesitation, and only the occasional screw-up — which Ignis is polite enough to ignore.

She even manages to  _ smile _ throughout it, and by the end of their first dance she’s actually having fun.

They dance to one more song before a heavyset man with thick hair tied back into a ponytail approaches and taps Ignis on the shoulder.

‘Mind if I have the next one?’ he asks.

Ignis looks a little affronted for a moment — as though he’d been so lost in the swing of things that he’d forgotten there were other people around them. Recognition seems to dawn on his face, however, and he lets go of Prompto to lay a companionable hand on the man’s shoulder.

‘Vyv!’ he says. ‘I was beginning to think our paths would never cross.’

‘You know how it goes,’ the man says. ‘You’re the only person I know busier than I am. This that budding photographer of yours?’

He looks to Prompto, who suddenly feels even more self-conscious than she did while dancing.

‘Prompto,’ Ignis says, turning to her. ‘This is Vyv Dorden, editor of  _ Free _ magazine. Vyv, Prompto Argentum.’

Vyv’s hand is a little warm and clammy, but Prompto’s more focused on the fact that this is the man Ignis has been talking about enlisting to give her photography pointers. She’s seen  _ Free _ on magazine stands, too — read more than a handful of their digital editions — so to say she’s a little daunted to be in his presence would be an understatement.

‘So,’ Vyv says, turning to Ignis again. ‘You mind if I cut in? I can see a few eligible bachelorettes around here clamouring to keep you company.’

‘I’ll go check on Iris, actually,’ Ignis says, motioning toward the door as his eyes lock onto Prompto’s. ‘Come find me at the bar when you’re done?’

The next song has already begun, and the other couples move around them — Vyv turns to Prompto resolutely and offers his hands, and she has no choice but to get into position.

‘So you’re the one Ignis keeps getting onto me about,’ he says. ‘He tells me you got talent, kid.’

‘I guess,’ Prompto squeaks. ‘I mean, he was saying I could be great with a little one-on-one guidance…’ 

Vyv flashes a winning smile.

‘Kid,’ he says. ‘When I’m through with you, you’ll be world-class.’

* * *

Ballrooms aren’t quite the venue for crash courses in photography, so by the time Prompto heads off in search of Ignis she’s made plans with Vyv to meet at his office after work during the week. Apparently Ignis had sent along her Instagram, so he’s already familiar with her work — and even though he offered some brutal critique while they dance, his praise at least seemed genuine.

It’s easier to track Ignis down than it had been with Iris — her eyes home in on him almost immediately as she approaches the bar. She sees her friend beside him, and they’re talking to another man; it takes Prompto a little while to recognise him as the guy she bumped into earlier, in the gold-adorned suit.

‘Ah, Prompto,’ Ignis says, waving her over. ‘I’d like you to meet Noctis Caelum. His father is the one responsible for this wonderful gala.’

‘Geez, Iggy,’ Noctis says dryly. ‘Way to make me sound like a daddy’s boy.’

When he offers Prompto his hand, he wears a candid smile.

‘I do have talents of my own,’ he says, with a conspiratorial twinkle in his eye. ‘I just don’t like to be in the spotlight like my old man.’

‘Sorry again for earlier,’ Prompto says.

Noctis shakes his head and steps back to his previous spot; he’s by Iris’s side, Prompto can’t help but notice, standing comfortably close.

‘How did it go with Vyv?’ Ignis prompts.

‘Good,’ she replies. ‘He wants me to bring some of my RAWs to his office this week. He was… pretty thorough.’

Ignis laughs and slips a hand into the small of her back.

‘Don’t let Vyv’s candour put you off,’ he says. ‘He wouldn’t waste his time on you if he didn’t agree you had talent.’

‘We were just going to go dance,’ Iris says, tugging at Prompto’s elbow. ‘Coming with?’

_ We, _ Prompto realises, refers to Iris and Noctis. She regards her friend with a raised eyebrow and watches Iris’s cheeks colour in response.

‘That’s okay,’ Prompto says. ‘I think I’ve made enough of a show of myself for one night. You enjoy, though.’

She gives Iris a pointed look as she and Noctis file past; her friend avoids meeting her eye entirely.

‘They seem to have hit it off,’ Ignis muses.

Prompto smirks in agreement. She’s glad for it — Iris’s last relationship culminated in a messy breakup, from which her friend has been slow to bounce back.

‘He’s cute,’ she remarks. ‘And rich, I’m guessing.’

Ignis lifts an eyebrow with such a quizzical expression that it makes Prompto laugh; she slips her arm around him and rests a hand on his chest.

‘Don’t worry,’ she says. ‘I’ve still got the biggest catch in this place.’

‘I’m not so sure,’ Ignis says with feigned disappointment. ‘I’m afraid you rather hurt my feelings.’

Prompto snorts. Ignis doesn’t seem the type to be made to feel insecure, somehow. Still, she plays along and stretches up on her toes to kiss him. They might be in the thick of the bustle around the bar, but there are so many personalities around — so many interesting people with extraordinary lives — that nobody seems to be paying them any heed.

‘How will I ever make it up to you?’ she asks, lowering herself with a dramatic sigh.

When Ignis drops his voice, she feels her stomach tighten in anticipation. He has that look on his face that usually means he’s up to something — and when he’s up to something, it’s always fun.

‘I may have an idea or two,’ he says.

‘Is that so?’

He leans close to her ear; the brush of his lips against her sends a frisson across her skin in spite of the warmth of the press of bodies around them.

‘Why don't you go to the washroom,’ he says, taking little pains to keep his voice down, ‘and remove your panties for me?’

Whether it’s the command itself, or the tone it’s issued in, Prompto’s body reacts like a dog to a whistle. She feels that first throb between her legs; hears her pulse in her ears. A couple months ago, being told to do such a thing would probably have sent her screaming in the other direction. Coming from Ignis, it makes her feel impossibly sexy.

‘Is that an  _ order?’ _ she teases.

His hand presses into her back, the grip of his fingers possessive.

‘It is, pet,’ he says, his breath hot at her ear. ‘It certainly wouldn’t do to disobey, would it? Now run along, and bring them to me when you’re done.’

He lets her go; when she turns to leave, he gives her ass a sharp little slap. She looks back over her shoulder at him and finds his expression unmoved, as though there were absolutely nothing going on between them.

Her heart’s pounding as she hurries to the restrooms. She’s thankful there’s no wait — she’d probably lose her nerve, if there were — and slips inside the first one she sees. Even the bathrooms in this place are lavish, with a gilt-framed mirror hanging over the sink and a plush antique-style sofa alongside one wall. The wallpaper is a deep, sultry red, perfect for tonight’s mood.

She sets her purse aside on the sofa along with her shawl, then sits down to tug up the length of her dress. When she finds the band of her panties she wriggles them down her thighs and stops with them halfway down, snapping off a quick picture on her phone.

_ \- you sure you don’t wanna help me out instead…? _

_ \- Do as you’re told, pet. _

She feels a little obscene stuffing her underwear into her purse when she’s done, but she does it with a shy smile on her lips, one that lingers even as she returns to Ignis. He has a hand out, an expectant look on his face; she slips the panties out from her purse and steps close, pressing them into the palm of his hand as discreetly as she can.

‘You can have these back later,’ he says, tucking them into the pocket of his slacks, ‘if you’re good.’

Prompto swallows.

‘What if I don’t wanna be good?’

His eyes darken so dangerously, so deliciously. He grasps her wrist, gripping just tightly enough to serve as a warning; the touch burns and she finds herself picturing him pinning her arms while he fucks her senseless.

‘Being a brat again, are we?’ he says, his words clipped.

She makes a play at tugging her arm away, and the mischievous grin that spreads across her face feels as though it belongs to her and someone else all at once. He responds by tightening his hold on her and pulling her close, his voice a warning growl at her ear.

‘I can’t bring you anywhere,’ he says, ‘can I, darling?’

Prompto wets her lips. Another throb of need goes through her; she’s not so sure she’ll last if this is Ignis’s game.

‘I’ll be good,’ she murmurs. ‘Promise.’

* * *

‘Are you okay? You seem a little spaced.’

Prompto blinks at her friend’s voice. Ignis is off talking shop with someone on the far side of the hall, but he’s been exchanging texts with her for the past ten minutes or so. To say that she’s distracted would be putting it mildly.

‘Yeah,’ she says, making an effort to sound natural. ‘All good.’

Iris doesn’t seem convinced, giving her a sidelong glance.

‘If you say so,’ she says.

Prompto hears a little chirp from her purse and slips her phone out, careful not to let Iris see.

_ \- How are you holding up, love? _

_ \- miss you… _ _  
_ _ \- wish you were touching me…  _

She looks across the chamber and watches Ignis as he glances down at his phone. To his credit, his poker face is excellent — he barely registers anything untoward in his expression as he reads her message and sends back a response.

_ \- I’ll take you home soon, pet. Why don’t you get yourself ready for me? _

_ \- get myself ready…? _

_ \- Can’t rightly fuck you blind if you’re not wet, can I? Touch yourself for me. _

Prompto has to bite her lip to keep from making any sort of sound. She’s not quite as good as Ignis is at keeping a straight face.

When she looks over at him he wears the slightest hint of an amused smile as he speaks with his companion.

‘Are you seriously texting each other?’ Iris asks, her voice midway between exasperation and envy. ‘You’re too cute.’

Prompto clears her throat. As much as her she and Iris might share with each other, the details of some little sex game don’t quite seem like the sort of thing girlfriends should exchange. She affects as much of a neutral tone as she can as she responds.

‘What about that Noctis guy, huh?’ she asks. ‘He seems nice.’

At this, Iris splits into a grin.

‘Got his number,’ she says.

Somehow, Prompto isn’t surprised. She’s pleased, though — she can’t be the only one getting action around here.

‘Go  _ Iris!’ _ she says, tapping her friend gently on the arm.

She casts a glance to Ignis again; sees him lift his hand as though to neaten his hair, then with his other hand taps discreetly at the face of his watch on his wrist.

_ Right. _ She can’t keep him waiting.

‘I’m gonna run to the restroom,’ she says. ‘But tell me all about it when I get back, kay?’

It’s difficult not to  _ run _ to her destination. She knows touching herself won’t be as good as when Ignis inevitably gets his hands on her, but the fact that he gave her the command himself makes it all the better.

She feels like everybody she passes can discern her intentions just from her body language, so she’s flushed by the time she gets to the washroom. This time she  _ does _ have to wait, and she makes a valiant effort at avoiding catching the eye of the other woman waiting in line.

When the bathroom frees up, she all but rushes in and locks the door behind her.

She catches sight of herself in the mirror — her cheeks are pink, the slightest sheen of sweat on her skin. Somehow, out of all the models and actresses here tonight, Ignis wants  _ her. _

Her phone rings out; she’s quick to check the message as it comes through.

_ \- Well? It won’t do to keep me waiting. _

_ \- I need a little inspiration… tell me what you’re gonna do to me _

_ \- Giving me orders now, are you? That’s not how this works. _

_ \- please _ _  
_ _ \- i’m begging... _

_ \- I have a four poster bed at home. Perfect for tying you up, if you’d like. _

_ \- holy SHIT _

_ \- Is that a yes? _

Prompto could scream; as it is, she has to sink her teeth into her lip to keep quiet. She can picture it so clearly she  _ aches. _

She almost drops her phone as she hurries to set it aside and tugs the hem of her dress up — given the length and volume of the skirt, it’s no small feat. Once she has it bunched around her waist, she dips her hand between her legs to get her fingers wet. It’s then that an idea hits her; she lets her skirts drop and grabs her phone; lifts her other hand to her mouth to lick her fingertips clean and takes a photo for Ignis.

_ \- want a taste? _

She’s a little disappointed when the response doesn’t come right away. She has to convince herself that maybe Ignis hasn’t seen the picture, or that he  _ can’t _ reply, busy as he is, but still she gives a petulant huff as she waits. These games are fun, but the  _ waiting _ part makes them considerably less so.

She amuses herself by slipping her hand under her dress again and doing as Ignis ordered her to, filling her head with fantasies of him tasting her with his tongue.

When a knock comes at the door, she almost jumps out of her skin. She’s been in here a while — of course she should have expected somebody would get impatient. Suddenly the sexiness is gone from the moment and she lets her dress drop again as though it were hot to the touch.

‘Just a second!’ she blurts.

She washes her hands, takes a moment to check her makeup, then turns for the door. She only hopes that whoever waits outside can’t see right through her.

She pulls open the door and lifts her head, ready with an apology for whoever waits out there — but then her eyes catch Ignis’s where he stands outside, and her mouth goes dry.

There’s something about him — something, again, that seems a little  _ dangerous _ as his eyes rake over her. She’s not scared, though; instead it sends a thrill of anticipation through her, which only grows as he pushes the door open and steps inside.

He barely has the door shut before he pounces on her; barely stops to turn the lock before his body’s on hers, pushing her up against the wall as his mouth covers hers.

For all of his restraint tonight — for all of his playing at being unimpressed by her overtures — his kisses are almost desperate, his hands wandering freely over her, one pawing at her breast through her dress while the other yanks her skirts up.

‘Can’t wait to get me home?’ she teases between kisses.

‘Do shut up,’ Ignis commands, pulling back to look her in the eye, ‘and let me fuck you.’

She lifts her dress for him and he grab her hips, where he lifts her up onto the counter by the sink. The marble is cold under her bare backside, but his touch is all hot as he uses one hand to steady himself against her thigh, while the other goes for his fly.

He pulls his slacks down along with his briefs just enough to get his cock free and Prompto glances down at it, at the way it stands out from his hips just for her. Between her legs, her sex seems to pulse in answer to it.

When Ignis’s hand goes for his pocket — presumably for the condoms he always seems to keep squirrelled away in his wallet for just such an occasion — Prompto puts out a gentle hand to stop him.

‘You… you don’t need to do that,’ she says, a little shyly. ‘If you don’t want to, I mean.’

She hadn’t realised until now how much she wants it; how much she wants to actually  _ feel _ him inside her.

‘You’re sure?’ he asks, gentleness momentarily taking over. ‘You’re… prepared?’

They’ve already had  _ the talk _ — the awkward one about past sexual partners, and about getting tested. They both know they’re clean, as is Gladiolus, and since her appointment the prior week she doesn’t need to worry about any other surprises, either.

‘You don’t need to beat around the bush,’ she teases, tugging lightly on his tie. ‘No babies. Promise.’

He doesn’t wait for much more confirmation than that; he paws at her thighs and pushes them apart, somewhat roughly.

There’s something irresistibly  _ carnal _ about it all. Ignis has done the romance — the wining and dining, the beautiful gifts, the chivalry. Tonight, there’s an element of claiming ownership, of taking what’s rightfully his.

Another night, Prompto might play at disobedience, but it’s the last thing on her mind now. She’ll let Ignis have his way, and he’ll reward her for it.

He crushes his mouth against hers, his hand slipping up the nape of her neck and into her hair. When she lets out a soft moan into his lips, she feels his blunt nails dig into the soft flesh of her thigh. He steps closer, lining his hips up with hers, and she feels the first brush of him against her. Unconsciously, she pushes her legs further apart, edges her hips forward to meet him, and as his cock glides through her lips and inside of her, she gives another moan that their kiss can barely hope to stifle.

‘That’s it, pet,’ he murmurs, pulling away to look at her. ‘You’re an eager little thing, aren’t you?’

Prompto bites her lip — he’s like something straight out of an erotic novel, and it’s almost too much for her to take — and gives a meek, subservient little nod.

He eases himself the rest of the way into her, until they’re chest to chest. For a moment they stay like that, their chests heaving almost in time with each other; Ignis drops his forehead against her shoulder and she can feel the heat of his breath huffing out against her skin.

When he straightens up once more and pulls his hips back, slipping steadily out of her, she feels herself twitching forward in need — but then he’s thrusting forward again and her mouth issues a soft little  _ ‘Oh!’ _ of its own accord.

He holds her eyes awhile as he moves, the intensity of them seeming to burn right through her. His nails are digging into her thigh again, prompting a sharp gasp of pain and pleasure intertwined, and when she moves to tip her head back he gives her hair a slight tug of warning.

‘Eyes on me,’ he orders.

If somehow he didn’t have her full attention — impossible as that would be — he’d have it now.

She looks at him and he holds her gaze there, his eyes dark and sultry. With his glance fixed on her, her pulls his hips back and drives them into her, harder this time, so hard that her eyes shut and her mouth hangs open to give a choked sound of pleasure.

‘Look at me.’

Prompto knows she’ll be rewarded if she obeys, but there’s a cunning little voice in the back of her head that tells her the punishment for disobedience can be its own reward, too. When he treats her roughly — when he puts her in her place — it gives her a thrill she’s never felt before; it’s worth testing the bounds of his patience to get more of it.

She looks at him just long enough to flash a defiant glance at him before turning her face away.

The growl that rumbles up from Ignis’s throat tells her she’s pushing his buttons; he uses his grip on her hair to tug her head to the side and gets up close to her ear, where his breath huffs out with each thrust he gives.

‘You enjoy being a brat, do you?’ he says, his voice thick with desire. ‘Christ, do you know just what you do to me?’

Her pulse thrums in her veins, resonating with his words. Where he thrusts into her — he’s rougher now, more frantic — she feels herself throb around him.

She knows she could touch herself, could eke out her own pleasure, but that’s not what this is about; she’s getting off as much from Ignis losing his inhibitions as she is the feel of him within her.

When Ignis’s pace ramps up, she knows he’s close. She spurs him on by slipping her arms around him and clutching at his jacket to hold him close. His thrusts, once controlled, now become frantic and uneven — with a choked groan, muffled by her shoulder, he goes rigid; warmth fills her, and he gives one final buck before collapsing against her.

His chest heaves as he recovers, leaning into her for a long while. She bathes in the scent of him while he comes down, in the crisp smell of his cologne, in the slightly bitter tang of his pomade.

It’s not the first time it’s struck her as familiar, but it’s the first time it washes over her with such intensity.

It hits her then — dark blond hair and an immaculately-tailored suit; vibrant roses climbing trellises on a stone wall. When she tenses in realisation, Ignis pulls back to look at her and she lifts her hands to his face, tilting his jaw upwards to look at him —  _ really _ look at him.

His soft lips; his classical nose; the few dark freckles sprinkled across his cheek and jaw. Even the mint green of his eyes, which had arrested her so much when she had first seen them — she wonders why she didn’t see it sooner.

Those green eyes are trained on her now, his eyebrows curved upwards in confusion. When he opens his mouth to question her, she covers it with her own.

There’s champagne on his tongue; there had been that night, too.

‘It was you,’ she says, pulling away to look at him. ‘The masquerade ball, years ago. It was you.’

Ignis blinks.

It’s unusual to see him speechless.


	14. The Get-Together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, sorry that this chapter was so long in the making. Anybody following my social media probably has _some_ idea of the mayhem that has been my life the past few weeks.
> 
> This fic is still very much a go. I also may be reworking the outline slightly, so there _may_ be an extra chapter. We'll see where the muse takes us ;)

Prompto waits for something — some sort of confirmation, even a denial. Ignis’s silence speaks loud enough for itself.

Their proximity is uncomfortable now, in the wake of her realisation; he pulls out and moves to the wash basin barely a foot away, carefully nudging Prompto’s skirts aside so he doesn’t get them wet while he cleans himself up. It seems a pointless thing for him to worry about right now.

It was him, Prompto is sure. And Ignis knew.

‘It _was_ you, right?’ she asks.

Ignis has finished up by now; he dries off with paper towels, straightens himself out, and leans against the counter with a sigh. He’s quiet for so long that Prompto wonders if he’s not going to answer her, but he speaks up eventually, still looking away from her.

‘I wasn’t sure it was you, at first,’ he admits. ‘Not until I got to know you. You were rather outspoken that night.’

He chuckles softly; Prompto tries for a smile, but it’s flimsy.

She feels self-conscious now, aware of every inch of her skin. There’s an uncomfortable slickness between her thighs — it occurs to her to clean herself, but the thought of doing so in front of Ignis makes her feel embarrassed, as though he weren’t just buried deep within her just moments earlier.

‘Can I…’

When she trails off, he looks at her encouragingly. She presses her thighs together and clears her throat, unable to quite meet his eye.

‘Could I get a little privacy?’

Ignis opens his mouth in surprise — whether he’s bothered by it or not, he obeys without question, stopping only to hand back her panties from his pocket. It seems strange to think she’d been all too happy to play along with his little game. Now, she feels a little… ashamed of the whole thing.

When he’s gone, Prompto hops off the counter to lock the door, and for a long while she just leans against it, listening to Ignis pace outside.

It _had_ been Ignis, hidden away beneath that mask all those years ago — had been Ignis who’d argued with her for what had felt like hours, setting her pulse racing in equal parts with frustration and the thrill of meeting somebody who could give as good as he got. When the tension had become so obviously _something more,_ they’d been unable to keep their hands off each other…

And years later, Ignis had known it was her.

She realises, with a rush of heat that prickles at her ears, at her cheeks, that she’s upset with him. He’d known, and he hadn’t said a thing — this whole time they’ve been fooling around, and he hadn’t said a damn thing.

She heaves a sigh and pushes off from the door. With her dress hiked up around her waist, she begins the very undignified task of cleaning herself up — and tries not to let her mind wander back to the moment of intimacy that left her with the mess to begin with.

When she’s done, she splashes cool water on her face and heads outside.

Ignis is still out there; thankfully he’s alone, nobody else waiting to use the facilities. He leans against the wall opposite the restroom, arms folded across his chest, and there’s a furrow in his brow.

‘Can we talk?’ he says gently.

Prompto nibbles at her lip. After a pause, she shakes her head.

‘I’m kinda beat,’ she says. ‘You mind if I take off?’

He hesitates for just a moment — she can see the worry that flickers through his expression, and for a moment she feels a little guilty. She’s making a big deal out of nothing, she figures, yet it doesn’t make the feeling go away.

‘Of course not,’ he replies. ‘I’ll call a car — I’m afraid I’ve reached the limits of my capacity to mingle, as well.’

They walk side by side back to the festivities, a strained silence tagging along with them. Prompto _tries_ to be upbeat, but every time she opens her mouth to make chitchat she finds herself faltering before the words ever get out.

Iris, of course, notices that something is wrong right away, once Ignis steps away to call a car and Prompto returns to her side.

‘Are you okay?’ she asks, latching onto Prompto’s arm.

‘Just tired,’ Prompto, with about as convincing of a smile as she can muster. ‘All this small talk  is exhausting.’

She wants to go home, strip out of this expensive goddamn dress, and sink into the comfort of her own bed — and to hopefully wake up tomorrow without that little worm of uncertainty in her stomach.

Iris links her arm through Prompto’s and sticks close by her side, and they make their way toward the edge of the room where the crowd’s a little less condensed. Ignis is brisk and efficient as he finds them a minute later.

‘I gave Dino the rest of the night off,’ he explains, ‘but I managed to procure a driver from the firm Chamberlain uses. It shouldn’t be too long of a wait.’

‘Great,’ Prompto says brightly, even though it’s far from how she feels.

They each try in earnest to keep the conversation going, but every attempt falls flat. Even Iris — ray of sunshine that she is — can’t quite seem to dispel the tension, and she gives up before long, resorting to amusing herself with her phone.

Once the car arrives, it seems they can’t leave fast enough.

Prompto’s even more glad for the private entrance at the back, free from the prying eyes of the paparazzi. She wonders what the headlines would say — Moda _editor seen leaving gala with two girls on his arm,_ or something suitably salacious.

The car is something subdued and nondescript, but Prompto figures that’s probably the point: discretion. When they climb into the back, there’s a dark screen partitioning it off from the driver; it feels oddly impersonal, what with the candid relationship Ignis and Dino seem to have.

‘We’ll drop you two off first,’ Ignis states. ‘You’re closer, at any rate.’

That seems the extent of the conversation that any of them are willing to share — in the silence that follows, Prompto drops her head against the seat behind her and sighs, clasping her hands in her lap.

She watches the streets roll by outside as they go, riddling out her thoughts along the way. The more she thinks about it, the more convinced she is that she’s being unreasonable for being upset. Yet it seems the further she convinces herself of that, the worse she feels.

Ignis reaches for her hand at some point along the way, and she lets him take it — but it feels off, somehow. If Iris weren’t here, she could talk about it; she wishes she’d taken Ignis up on his offer earlier, while they were still at the gala.

After entirely too long, the car pulls up on the familiar stretch of street outside their building and Iris hops out. When Prompto doesn’t get out right away, Iris leans in through the open door.

‘It’s okay, Iris,’ Prompto says. ‘I’ll be right up.’

Her friend gives her a nod and — with a glance at Ignis — steps back and shuts the door, leaving Prompto and Ignis alone in the silence of the car.

It’s a silence that endures for so long it starts to feel stifling, and Prompto tells herself she should have just gone up with Iris. Every time she thinks she’ll work up the steel to open her mouth and speak, she backs down before she can get that far.

‘Did you enjoy your evening?’ Ignis asks after an uncomfortably long stretch without either of them saying anything.

‘Yeah,’ Prompto says, forcing a smile. ‘I was a little nervous, but it wasn’t so bad.’

Ignis nods; his fingers squeeze hers, where they’re laced together.

‘I’m glad you had the chance to meet Vyv at last,’ he says. ‘He’s notoriously bad for forgetting to get back to people when he’s swamped.’

They lapse, again, into silence; Prompto looks down at their hands where they’re clasped on the seat between them and wonders if it would be weird if she left now, after making a point of staying.

‘Prompto,’ Ignis says. ‘You’re upset with me.’

If Prompto denied it, they could pretend all of this never happened and she’d be on her way. That nagging, worrying feeling in her gut only gets worse at the thought, though.

Try as she might to shrug it off, she can’t.

‘Yeah,’ she murmurs, looking down at their hands together. ‘I am.’

He’s silent. Waiting for her to go on, she realises.

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ she says. ‘I’ve been going along all this time thinking you were a stranger, and you never said anything.’

Now that it’s out — now that she’s finally put words to that uncomfortable squirming feeling in the pit of her stomach — she feels a little better, and a little worse. It’s good to get it off her chest, of course, but now that it’s out there it’s less easy to ignore.

Ignis sighs. He slips his hand from hers — though not before giving hers a reassuring squeeze — and lifts it to push his glasses into place on his nose.

‘Frankly,’ Ignis says, ‘I thought you already knew. When I had you come by the office to pick up those packages, I wanted to make sure it _had_ been you — and you didn’t seem to spurn my advances, so I assumed you remembered me, as well. By the time I was certain it had been you, you hadn’t mentioned it yet — I imagined you were embarrassed and didn’t want to bring it up.’

Prompto flinches.

‘Embarrassed?’

Ignis’s breath hitches; he lifts his hand and nudges his glasses down a little, pinching the bridge of his nose.

‘Yes,’ he says. _‘I_ was embarrassed, as well.’

It feels like a little part of Prompto is dying inside her; like everything’s finally falling apart in their little affair. She’s been wondering for so long what somebody so wealthy, successful, and downright sexy could want to do with her, and now it seems this is further confirmation of her fears.

‘Oh,’ she says flatly. ‘I’m… sorry it was embarrassing to be with me.’

Ignis laughs, a sudden, bemused sound.

‘I wasn’t embarrassed by _you!’_ he says hurriedly. ‘I was ashamed of my behaviour. It was six years ago, Prompto… I wasn’t quite as mature as I’d like to admit. I never even gave you my name.’

Neither did Prompto, she realises; she’d been so swept up in their butting of heads that night that it hadn’t even occurred to her to ask. When she’d gotten home later that night she almost hadn’t been able to believe it had all been real, and yet she’d felt a little burst of shame when she’d thought back on it.

She understands, now, why Ignis said he was embarrassed.

‘I… guess I get it,’ she murmurs. ‘But you could’ve told me! You had to’ve realised I had no clue who you were.’

‘I did,’ he admits, ‘but by then it felt awkward that I hadn’t broached the subject with you yet. I didn’t know when to bring it up — while we were having our way with each other against my desk? When I called while you were with your boyfriend? It certainly didn’t seem like something I could email you about.’

Prompto chews her lip. Her knee jerk reaction, to take everything personally, seems so short-sighted now.

She tries to think what she would have done in his shoes — been too ashamed to ever show her face to him again, probably. As fun as their little fling had been, it had just been that: casual, no-strings-attached fooling around.

And yet Ignis had still pursued her, after all this time; had, by all accounts, swept her off her feet.

In a way, she’s glad she got a chance at a fresh start with him — a blank slate, to start anew without the baggage of their fling to weigh them down. Even if said fling was _amazing._

‘I was upset when I realised,’ she says quietly. She looks down at her lap, where her pale hands, clasped together, contrast with the deep blue of her dress. ‘But I guess I understand why you didn’t say anything.’

She feels Ignis move in the seat beside her, his arm gently bumping into hers as he turns. When she looks up at him, his expression is earnest.

‘I realise I’ve given more than my fair share of excuses,’ Ignis says, ‘and I understand if you’re still upset with me. I promise it was never my intention to deceive you.’

Prompto nods. For the first time since all of this began, she feels a genuine smile warm her lips.

‘Come to dinner,’ Ignis says suddenly. ‘At my home. I’ll cook for you.’

Prompto eyes him suspiciously. If this is an attempt at bribing her into forgiveness, she’s inclined to feel like _food_ is probably the way to her heart — but it’ll take more than just that.

Still. She’s willing to give him a chance, at least.

‘Okay,’ she says. ‘But if you’re just trying to get into my pants again…’

She’s teasing, but the most earnest look comes over Ignis’s face until, after a moment, he seems to realise she’s not serious.

‘I assure you,’ he says, ‘my intentions are noble. In fact — why not invite Gladiolus along? It might be a good chance to all get to know each other.’

At first, it seems like a terrible idea: the two guys Prompto’s sleeping with, under the same roof? Stuck at a dinner table together? If it’s not as explosive as she imagines it to be in all of the worst-case scenarios, at the very _least_ it’s gotta be awkward.

As she sits on it, however, it dawns on her it may not be such a bad thing to introduce the two of them. It’s bound to happen eventually — they’ve already spoken on the phone, however unconventional that might have been — so maybe it’s better to get it out of the way.

‘I’ll ask him,’ she responds, in the end.

‘Wonderful,’ Ignis replies. ‘Let me know, and I’ll forward you the details.’

* * *

If Prompto didn’t know better, she’d think Gladio’s _nervous._

He’d seemed fine until the car had showed up to bring them to Ignis’s place; ever since then, he’s been moving around in his seat in the back like he can’t quite get comfortable. It’s when he starts looking at his faint reflection in the window, smoothing down his facial hair and adjusting the collar of his shirt, that she _knows_ for sure.

‘It’s just dinner, babe,’ she says. She lifts a hand to the nape of his neck and cards her fingers through his hair where he has it loosely tied into a knot. ‘You’ve got nothing to worry about.’

Her words seem to do little to help him shrug of his concerns, but at least he seems to loosen up a little under her touch, sinking into it. When he blows out a huff and slumps into his seat, she keeps it up, absentmindedly scratching her fingers gently against his scalp while she checks a notification on her phone.

It’s Instagram — specifically a ping from Ignis’s private account, where she _embarrassingly_ has post notifications set up. There’s a picture of a table set up on a balcony, with three place settings spread out across it.

 _‘Dinner for three,’_ the caption says.

It’s plain to see, from what the angle of the picture shows, that Ignis lives in the lap of luxury. Everything’s all chic minimalism, and she’s not totally sure but she _thinks_ she spies a hot tub in the background.

She elects to keep the image to herself for the time being. Gladio’s nervous enough as it is.

‘Maybe I shoulda got a haircut…’ Gladiolus says, as if to prove her point.

When Prompto looks up at him, he’s fidgeting at his reflection again, tucking the strands of hair too short to tie up behind his ear, then scooping them out to let them hang loose, then starting over again. She catches his hand and gives it a squeeze.

‘Your hair’s perfect,’ she says. _‘You’re_ perfect. I promise you don’t need to worry about tonight. Ignis just wanted us all to get to know each other.’

Once again — and she notices it with a pang — Gladio’s doubts don’t seem to have been banished by her words.

She’s nervous about tonight in her own way, but she’s _excited,_ too. Gladiolus is acting as though something big is riding on all of this, and nothing she says seems to convince him otherwise.

She settles instead for leaning over to kiss him. She’s grateful, when he returns in kind, that Dino had rolled up the privacy screen when they had set off from her apartment; some moments aren’t supposed to be shared.

* * *

Prompto remembers watching _MTV Cribs_ as a kid and being awed by the virtual palaces her favourite musicians and actors called home. As she stands outside Ignis’s place, Gladio’s fingers threaded through her own, she feels like she’s on an episode of it, waiting to be invited in by her gracious — and painfully rich — host.

The drive had taken them to the outskirts of town, to the neighbourhoods in the hilly area overlooking the city and the scenic views to the east; flashy cars line the streets here, and Prompto knows she’d feel more than a little out of place in her typical casual attire.

She supposes she shouldn’t really be surprised when Ignis has multiple cars and a _driver,_ yet it is what it is. Even for all insistence that Gladiolus had nothing to worry about, she feels genuinely nervous now that she’s seen where Ignis lives.

What if he has a butler? The thought makes her feel a little ill.

It’s Ignis who opens the door, though, and he’s dressed about as casual as she’s ever seen him — a neatly-pressed burgundy shirt, opened at the collar and rolled up at the forearms; a pair of charcoal slacks which hug his thighs; his hair in a pompadour with a few strands hanging artfully loose across his forehead. He’s opted not to wear his glasses tonight, and it makes his green eyes stand out all the more brightly.

He’s all warm smiles of greeting, and after he takes in the sight of Prompto first in her dark jeans and off-the-shoulder-blouse, he steps forward to kiss her on the cheek.

It’s almost overwhelming how things can slip so easily back into their old routine after their little tiff at the gala; his hand fits _just right_ in the curve of her waist, and the smell of his cologne is rich and sweet and familiar in a way that feels like coming home.

‘This is Gladiolus,’ she says after she pulls away. ‘Gladio, Ignis.’

There’s an awkward pause where each man seems to size the other up. Ignis, however, is a gentleman as always and barely hesitates to offer a hand for Gladio to shake.

 _The two guys I’m sleeping with, finally meeting,_ Prompto thinks. _This isn’t weird at all._

Ignis wastes no time in inviting them in, and as he turns around Prompto tries — and fails — not to notice the way his slacks seem tailored to show off the shape of his ass.

She told herself she’d keep things social — that she wouldn’t blur the lines tonight, with both the men in her life under one roof. Already, she’s failing.

The house proves to be enough of a distraction, at least, and Prompto finds Gladio just as interested in peering around it as she is. The entryway is a high-ceilinged foyer with a skylight that shows the muted stars overhead, and a staircase of polished steel and glass winds itself up to the next floor along one side of the room. Ignis has decorated the space with a small handful of paintings, discerningly curated, and Prompto catches Gladio’s glance lingering on an artful nude depicting a woman draped languidly across a couch, her eyes burning into those of the viewer.

The hallway Ignis leads them through is all glass on one side, with palm fronds swaying in the breeze outside; he brings them to a large kitchen-diner at the end, where everything’s pristine, shining steel and cool marble.

‘It’s such a lovely evening I thought we might eat outside,’ Ignis says, leading them to a double glass door.

The balcony from his Instagram photo is outside, overlooking the lakes in the distance. The sun has fully set by now, and the moon leaves a white glow across the surface of the water.

‘Wow,’ Prompto murmurs. ‘I’m in love with this view.’

‘I should hope so,’ Ignis says, with a hint of a sardonic bite to his words. ‘I’m certainly paying enough for it.’

They sit with Ignis on one side of the table and Prompto and Gladio on the other. She wonders if this was an intentional bid to put Gladiolus at ease — to keep them close together, on a stranger’s turf. He seems a little more relaxed, at least, as he sinks into the seat beside her, although she can’t be sure that’s not just posturing.

‘I’ll be back in a moment,’ Ignis says. When Gladio hands over the bottle of wine they brought, Ignis takes it with a grateful smile.

Ignis is barely gone before Gladiolus is at Prompto’s ear.

‘You weren’t kidding when you said he was rich,’ he mutters.

Prompto turns and swats at him, but he’s smiling at least — it’s an improvement from the nerves that had dogged him in the car ride over.

The food Ignis serves them looks like it wouldn’t be out of place at a Michelin Star restaurant, and Prompto has to resist the urge to snap a shot of it for Instagram. He even has it set out in courses, and she can only _imagine_ the effort he must have gone to in order to coordinate such a meal.

‘Least you know you got a backup plan if the fashion thing falls through,’ Gladiolus quips, gesturing with his fork to the spread of dishes across the table. It’s probably the first real thing he’s said to Ignis since he arrived; there’s a wry smile on his lips when Prompto glances at him.

‘Quite,’ Ignis replies with an amused smirk. ‘Although I’m not certain I could cook for a living. I dare say it might take the fun out of it.’

It’s a civil exchange — so far, so good.

‘Prompto tells me you’re a paramedic,’ Ignis says. ‘How did you find your way into that profession?’

‘Wanted to be a veterinarian when I was a kid,’ Gladio replies, with a wry chuckle. ‘Guess I grew up and the long, brutal hours sounded like more fun.’

‘It certainly seems like a noble use of your time,’ Ignis says. He’s silent for a moment as he pours more wine for himself, then offers some to the others. ‘I wonder how you can do what you do, day in and day out — although after having my pet dog put to sleep as a child, I’m not sure I’d have the nerve to be a vet, either.’

‘You had a pet dog?’ Prompto asks. ‘Didn’t realise you were a dog person.’

Ignis gives a soft, fond sigh. He sips from his wine and swirls it in his glass awhile before setting it down once more.

‘I did,’ he replies. ‘A greyhound. Lovely dog — very loyal.’

At Prompto’s side, Gladiolus snorts. She turns and gives him a pointed glare, but he’s not looking at _her —_ his eyes are on Ignis.

Across the table, Ignis lifts his head to meet Gladio’s gaze.

‘Is something amusing?’ he prompts.

Gladiolus shrugs.

‘Just figures you’d have a greyhound, is all.’

‘Gladio…’ Prompto warns.

‘She was a rescue,’ Ignis says. He seems unfazed. ‘I was an only child, and she was a wonderful, faithful companion.’

Prompto’s stomach twists in anticipation of some sort of barbed comment from Gladiolus, but he has none — he just nods and returns to his food, and Prompto feels her shoulders relax.

‘I had a goldfish,’ she says. ‘It… didn’t last very long.’

A laugh goes around the table, and she feels her cheeks heat. It’s nice, however, to see Gladio and Ignis laughing together. Nicer still when Gladiolus slips a hand into her hair and brushes his fingers through the strands, glancing at her with an adoring look in his eyes.

‘Remind me never to get you a plant.’

She sinks into his touch, closing her eyes to enjoy the contact. When she lifts her glance again, Ignis is watching them — and it’s not jealousy in his eyes, but a sort of warmth that plucks at something in Prompto’s chest.

She sighs and slips her hand over to Gladio’s leg, resting it on his knee.

‘Tonight was a great idea,’ she says, to Ignis. ‘I’m glad you two finally got to meet.’

‘Technically we already kinda did,’ Gladio says with a smirk. ‘Unless you forgot that night already…’

Prompto doesn’t need to ask for clarification — no sooner does Gladiolus mention it than it all comes flooding back. She’s a little shy in memory of it, now that she has both parties together with her. She might not have been quite so brave if it hadn’t happened over the phone.

‘It certainly _was_ memorable,’ Ignis says, resting his chin on his hands. ‘I seem to recall we all had a rather good time.’

‘You know what I _meant,’_ Prompto whines, but it trails off into a sigh as Gladio’s hand moves out of her hair and his fingertips slip down her spine, leaving a shiver following in their wake.

Her eyes must have fluttered closed of their own accord; when she opens them again, Ignis is watching her, his green eyes alight.

‘More wine, Gladio?’ Ignis asks, reaching for the bottle.

Gladiolus nods; while Ignis fills his glass, his hand glides down to Prompto’s hip and moves to sit on her thigh, kneading slightly into her. He takes the newly-filled glass and lifts it, inclining his head toward Ignis.

‘To a gracious host,’ he says.

Ignis lifts his glass in turn.

‘To good company.’

Prompto could probably think of something to add, and she’s tempted to make a humorous addition, but she finds herself incapable of words as Gladiolus hand smooths down into her lap, his strong fingers slipping between her thighs. As Gladio and Ignis’s glasses meet in a toast, he uses deft fingertips to stroke her through her jeans.

The denim acts as somewhat of a barrier, but there’s still enough contact — teasingly so — that her breath catches in her throat.

‘Prompto?’ Ignis asks. There’s concern laced through his words, but there’s mischief in his eyes. ‘Are you all right?’

‘Oh, I think she’s good,’ Gladio replies.

His fingers never let up between her thighs, and if Ignis weren’t already clued on what’s happening, it’d be clear as day after the gasp that she can’t quite seem to tamp down as heat colours her cheeks.

Across from them, Ignis picks up his wine and sits back, folding one leg over the other in an elegant pose.

‘I—’ Prompto blurts. ‘Maybe we should finish eating before the food—’

‘Nonsense,’ Ignis says. ‘I’d say we’ve all had our fill, wouldn’t you, Gladio?’

‘Mhm.’

Gladiolus keeps up with his stroking, and Prompto can already feel that wet heat starting between her legs. It’s not that she’s _averse_ to this — it feels good, and there’s something about Ignis watching from across the table that dials the sensation up to eleven — but Prompto can’t help thinking this isn’t the sort of thing people _do_ at dinner.

Then again, she’d hardly call any of this conventional.

‘Why don’t we move this indoors?’ Ignis suggests.

‘What’d you have in mind?’ Gladio asks.

Ignis seems to deliberate long and hard on this, which leaves Gladio plenty of time to keep up his teasing. Under the fabric of her blouse, Prompto’s nipples have gone rigid; she knows from the way Ignis glances down at them that her clothing does little to conceal it.

When Ignis wets his lips, it’s a single show of abandon in an otherwise composed demeanour.

‘As much as I enjoy taking part,’ Ignis says, pausing to chase his words with a sip of wine, ‘I do so love how you two look together. Gladio — how would you feel about fucking Prompto for me?’

There seems to be a deafening silence in the wake of his words; Prompto’s ears ring, and when she glances up at Gladiolus she finds his mouth hanging slack, his eyes burning where they meet Ignis’s.

‘You wanna watch?’ he asks, his voice already husky with desire.

He turns to Prompto then, and it’s all she can do to keep from dissolving into a whimpering mess at the sight of the supreme _lust_ written all over his face.

‘What do you think, babe?’ he says. ‘Think we could give him what he wants?’


	15. The Cuckold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Kinktober Day 20 — _Dirty Talk_ / Day 22 — _Cuckolding/Threesome_**  
> 
> This chapter got super long. And intense. Fair warning: I don't have a huge amount of experience with D/s but I've tried my best to do it justice. I hope you enjoy!

There’s an odd sort of stillness over the table as the two men wait for Prompto’s answer. She feels like if she breathes too loudly, she’ll shatter the moment — like the dream she’s apparently living through will splinter into a thousand pieces, to be lost forever.

She’s afraid to even blink, but when she inevitably does, Ignis is still watching her expectantly and Gladio’s hand is still between her legs. When she takes in a long, deep breath and blows it out slowly to steady herself, everything’s still as it was.

Ignis takes a sip of his drink; for the first time, Prompto notices the pretty flush of heat across his cheeks, set off by the crimson hue of the wine.

‘Well, darling?’ he prompts.

One of his eyebrows is raised. The way his lips curl slightly at the corner does unholy things to her, and when she glances at Gladio his gaze is turned on Ignis, too.

They could walk away from this night with no hard feelings — better maybe not to muddle things up more than they already are — yet even as Prompto considers it, she feels her stomach knot itself in disappointment. Sure, it might be less complicated if they call it a day… but where’s the fun in that.

She twists to look at Gladiolus, and he’s still got that look in his eyes: the hunger. It resonates with something, deep inside of her; to know that Ignis is there to watch only makes it burns all the more fiercely within her.

She lifts her hand to his cheek, brushes her thumb along his jaw. It seems a look passes between them, a non-verbal confirmation — she gives a nod, and Gladio inclines his head in response.

His hand’s gone, suddenly, from between her thighs. Although she sorely misses its pressure there, she’s more than happy to take his hand when he offers it to her, and allows him to help her to her feet. When Ignis steps away from the table, he has the bottle of wine in hand, along with each of their glasses.

They each seem to fall into place — Ignis leading the way, Gladiolus just behind, Prompto tagging along at the rear, dizzy and giddy, her heart in her throat. She’d been so fascinated by Ignis’s place earlier but now it all zips by her in a blur as he brings them through the chic rooms and hallways and, eventually, to his bedroom.

He takes them through a set of double doors, and she has just a moment to glance around and take the place in — the huge four-poster bed, the heavy, sultry drapes, all more opulent than anything in the rest of Ignis’s home — before her eyes are drawn to Ignis where he’s already settling himself into a leather Chesterfield armchair in front of the window, wine glass in hand, with a prime view of the bed.

‘Go ahead,’ he says, gesturing toward the plush king size. ‘Make yourselves at home.’

Prompto can sense a timidity in Gladio as he leads her toward the bed — a hesitance she hadn’t thought him capable of. She can tell, equally, that he’s posturing pretty hard to keep up appearances; it’s convincing enough when he pulls her close and delves his hands into her hair, tugging her into a breathtaking kiss.

Whether it’s for show, or for their benefit alone, he takes his time with this kiss; his tongue is searching, luxuriantly so, as he laves it against hers, and by the time he pulls away her eyes are hazy, like she’s in a dream.

He smiles at her — a little crooked, a little cocky, and she knows at least that _this_ is the Gladio she knows so well — and grips her by the waist, lifting her up and transporting her onto the end of the bed.

It’s at once like he’s overly aware of Ignis watching them, and as though he doesn’t notice the other man at all. There’s a purposefulness to his actions, like each step is carefully considered, but his eyes never leave hers as he unbuttons her blouse.

He slips it off her shoulders and leans down, lips brushing across her collarbone and up her neck. She sighs and tips her head to the side, and his hand comes up to cup her breast, thumb roving over her nipple and drawing a sigh from her lips.

Prompto hears a slight creak behind her; when she glances back towards Ignis he’s shifted in his chair, his other leg now crossed over the first. He seems completely unmoved by the scene unfolding in front of him. Prompto feels a jolt of frustration — a desire to please him, to impress him, surges to the fore.

She takes over from Gladio, gripping him by the front of his shirt and pulling him down on top of her. He responds quickly and eagerly, tugging at the popper of her jeans while she goes for the buttons of his shirt.

It feels like they’d only been playing at it before — like they’re finally picking things up in earnest. When Prompto pops the last button on Gladio’s shirt she tugs it off his shoulders, and he’s already yanking her jeans down her hips. They’re a tangle of limbs, like they can’t quite undress fast enough, and in the breaks between their efforts their mouths find each other again and again, as sure as the surging of the tide.

Once Prompto’s down to her bra and panties, Gladiolus pulls away. His shirt is off, long since discarded haphazardly on the floor, his pants open but still in place; he lowers himself to his knees on the floor by the edge of the bed, and Prompto watches with a dry mouth as he nudges her thighs apart and lowers his head between them.

There’s a pull of something — embarrassment, self-consciousness — in the instant where Prompto remembers they’re doing this with an audience, but it’s gone as soon as Gladio’s lips meet the mound of her sex, kissing downward over her panties. He’s so slow, so _teasingly_ slow, and his hands rest on her thighs with a commanding weight; by the time he gets all the way down she’s trembling and aching with need, and when his lips press against her again she can feel her wetness beading between her panties and her skin.

He makes a soft, appreciative moan, the sound muffled between her thighs, and that only sets her off more — that, and the irresistible rasp of his facial hair against her skin, and the heat of him so close to her.

Nearby, from his perch in the armchair, Ignis draws in a sharp breath. It’s the first indication he’s given of being remotely stirred by any of what they’re doing, and as she tilts her head to watch him, she sees that pink flush creeping over his neck.

He’s trying to hide it, busying himself with the contents of his wine glass, but his eyes burn as he watches the two of them. When Gladio’s tongue laps at her through her panties, prompting a gasp from her, she sees Ignis’s jaw clench in practiced self-restraint.

It’s hard to keep looking back at Ignis, especially with Gladio between her legs; Gladio soon draws her attention back to him as he hooks a finger around the gusset of her panties and pushes it aside.

When she looks down at him, he gives her a lingering smirk — even that look, that cocky, _delicious_ little look, is enough to drive her wild with anticipation.

But then he’s teasing, his mouth leaving fluttering kisses up the inside of her thighs, and she _knows_ she should’ve expected as much but it still drags a groan of frustration from her that swiftly tapers off into a moan as his tongue flicks unexpectedly between her folds.

Another sound from Ignis — a soft exclamation, uttered just below the threshold of her hearing — but there’s little room in her awareness for him when Gladio’s tongue dips deeper. She catches sight of his eyes, of the fire brewing in the depths of their amber hue, a split-second before his ministrations prompt her eyelids to flutter closed of their own accord.

The covers of the bed are a little rough to the touch, a heavy silk brocade that gives the slightest resistance as she knots it into her grasp. When Gladio moves upwards, his tongue bumping over her clit, she figures it’s a good thing there’s a dense layer of fabric to keep her nails from biting into her palms, hard as it is that she balls her hands into fists.

Gladio’s making obscene sounds as he laps at her, the combination of the wet noises and his heavy breathing doing wicked things to her as she can do little more than lie back and take it. She considers looking over at Ignis to see if his resolve has finally broken, but Gladio’s tongue slips inside her again and puts all such thoughts firmly to the back of the queue.

His fingers bite into her flesh just a little, enough to mingle pain with pleasure; she spreads her thighs farther apart by way of encouragement and feels his tongue sink deeper into her as a reward.

Feet away, where Ignis’s sits, there’s a polite cough.

Gladio doesn’t let up, but it’s enough to draw Prompto’s eye — she twists to look up at him and he’s watching her, green eyes alight and lips flushed. It’s Gladio he addresses, however; Gladio that he glances toward, his eyes lingering awhile on the sight of him between Prompto’s legs before he speaks.

‘Gladiolus,’ Ignis says. His voices sounds more level than Prompto would’ve expected, a commanding tone to it that brooks no argument. ‘Much as this is enjoyable to watch, I believe you were under orders to _fuck_ her.’

Gladio lifts his head; his lips glisten in the moody glow from the recessed lighting overhead.

‘That so?’ he quips. ‘You’re givin’ me orders now, huh?’

Prompto feels her breath rush out sharply. Something — maybe it’s the dangerous look in Ignis’s eyes, maybe it’s the tension that settles over the room — signals a shift in the tone of things. She’s worried that this is where things will all fall apart: where their unconventional little ménage à trois will crumble apart.

When Ignis rises to his feet, the room’s so still a pin could be heard dropping to the hardwood floor. He takes his time crossing the room, something between irritation and amusement written over his face, and as he reaches out a hand to grip Gladio’s chin, Prompto feels her stomach knot up in anticipation.

He’s gripping tightly — tightly enough to turn Gladio’s jaw upward, the better to hold his glance.

‘Yes, Gladiolus,’ Ignis says, his voice at once low and demanding their full attention. ‘I’m giving the orders. Unless you’d prefer to put an end to the festivities?’

It’s there again, Prompto realises — that tension, that foreboding sense that Gladio could back out, could walk away and never look back.

He doesn’t, though. Prompto’s heart clamours in her chest as she watches him reach up and take Ignis by the wrist, and just as she’s thinking that he means to shove the other man away, he guides Ignis’s hand towards his mouth and closes his lips around Ignis’s thumb, licking and sucking it with all the attention he’d been lavishing between Prompto’s legs only moments before.

His amber eyes are on Ignis all the while as he takes Ignis’s thumb into his mouth over and over, and all at once Prompto’s convinced it’d make a pretty sight to see Gladio’s lips wrapped around Ignis’s dick.

She draws a breath in and out, heavy and shuddering, and the sound of it seems to break whatever spell has held the three of them captivated.

‘Can I trust you to behave?’ Ignis asks. As he speaks, he slips his thumb free of Gladio’s mouth; drags it across his bottom lip, gathering up the slickness of Prompto’s sex from it, and moves to taste it from the pad of his thumb.

Gladiolus seems incapable of a witty retort now, surprisingly. He just nods, his eyes still on the other man, and when Ignis turns towards Prompto his glance follows him all the while.

‘Sit up, pet,’ Ignis says to Prompto.

When she obeys, he uses a deft touch to unclasp her bra and slips it free. He pauses to lean in, kissing her; she can taste the faint tang of her sex on his tongue and it sends a throb southward.

‘Stand up,’ he commands.

She obeys once more; once she’s risen to her feet, Ignis steps close and gently takes hold of her panties, sliding them down her hips. Just having him so close — close enough to taste her, even though he elects not to — has her pressing her thighs together in anticipation.

It strikes her then that she’s the only one naked in the room, with Gladio in a state of disorderly undress and Ignis unruffled in his tailored clothes. She wonders if she should be self-conscious; she’s not.

He takes her hand and guides her up alongside the bed, gesturing for her to climb onto it. He barely waits for her to do so before he returns to his seat in the armchair. In the moment before he folds his legs neatly one over the other once more, Prompto sees a flash of his erection where it strains against his slacks.

‘Lie back,’ he orders. ‘Spread your legs for him, pet.’

Once Prompto’s in position, Ignis’s eyes are on Gladio — Ignis’s eyes are afire with excitement, and there’s the slightest hitch in his voice as he gives his clipped commands.

‘Gladio,’ he says. ‘Undress.’

Gladio’s quick about it, and Prompto’s glad. She doesn’t think she could put up with any more teasing, not when Ignis has escalated matters so considerably. Once the remainder of Gladio’s clothes are in a heap on the floor, his cock standing out, the head of it red with arousal — Prompto can’t miss the way Ignis’s glance lingers on his erection, and her heart _lurches_ with excitement — Ignis gestures toward Prompto.

‘There are condoms in the drawer by the bed,’ he states.

‘Don’t need ‘em,’ Gladio replies, droll, and Ignis lifts an eyebrow in response.

Prompto’s eyes are soon back on Gladiolus, though; she watches him climb up onto the bed and situate himself on his knees between her legs, one hand on her thigh and the other gripping the base of his cock.

‘So, boss,’ Gladiolus says with a sardonic grin. ‘How do you want this to play out?’

‘It’s _sir,’_ Ignis corrects him, clipped and cool. ‘And you’re to tease her first. I know how eager Prompto is for your cock, but she’ll have to wait a moment.’

 _Eager’s_ the word for it, Prompto thinks, as her sex throbs between her legs. The talk of being made to wait is enough to make her pout, but she finds all words of protest chased from her tongue as she looks at Ignis and he gives her a warning glance.

‘Yes _sir,’_ Gladio says, his voice a rumble. He lowers himself over Prompto, lining his hips almost flush with hers, and leans in to kiss her.

‘Ah-ah,’ Ignis warns; Gladiolus promptly stops before their lips ever have a chance to meet. ‘Not yet.’

Gladio looks a little affronted, but he obeys nonetheless; with one hand propping up his weight, he uses the other to guide his dick against Prompto, slowly rubbing the head of it up between her lips and teasing around her clit before moving it down again.

Prompto wants nothing more than to push her hips upwards, to ease herself onto his cock, but she knows without testing Ignis that he wouldn’t approve. She wants Gladio inside her, sure — but more than that, she wants to please Ignis. If Gladiolus can bring himself to obey him, then she can, too.

‘There’s a good boy,’ Ignis purrs. ‘Make her want it.’

Something about the epithet resonates deep within Prompto’s core — she would never have thought Gladio the _good boy_ type, leather-clad and muscular as he is, but it seems to fit him well enough tonight under Ignis’s commanding gaze. She sees Gladio swallow hard again, watches him look down in deep concentration as he guides his cock in a circle over her sex again, his mouth falling open as a soft sound of pleasure slips free of it.

If his task is to make her want it, he’s definitely succeeding — but again Prompto resists the urge to buck her hips upwards and looks to Ignis, watches his face for any sort of hint of permission.

He shakes his head, just slightly, and disappointment jangles through her even as her heart clatters against her ribs and Gladio’s cock bumps her clit, sending another jolt of pleasure through her.

‘I don’t think she’s quite desperate yet,’ Ignis says dryly.

Gladiolus takes to it diligently with a grunt of assent; that doesn’t seem to be enough, however.

‘Pardon?’ Ignis says. ‘You’ll have to speak up, like a good boy.’

It’s then that Prompto sees the first real hint of defiance flare up within Gladio in the burning of his eyes.

‘I said _yeah,’_ he retorts.

The chair creaks beneath Ignis; when Prompto glances over, he’s gripping his wine glass tightly.

‘What was that?’ Ignis says sharply.

‘Yeah.’

 _‘Yes,’_ Ignis corrects him. ‘Yes, _what?’_

Prompto wets her lips — her eyes dart from Ignis, with that dangerous look in his eyes, to Gladiolus, where she’d swear he was pissed if he didn’t look so damn _into_ the whole thing.

‘Yes, _sir,’_ Gladio says.

‘That’s better,’ Ignis replies. ‘He’s terribly disobedient, wouldn’t you say, Prompto?’

Prompto swallows. The whole thing is almost hotter than she can handle — she feels like she’s on the brink and Gladio’s not even inside her yet.

‘Yes, sir,’ she replies.

The chair creaks again, and with a lurch she realises Ignis has risen to his feet. She watches him cross the floor, still immaculate as ever — although a few more strands of hair seem to have fallen loose from his pompadour, and there’s a faint sheen of sweat at his throat — and when he stops by Gladio’s side she feels her heart contract in anticipation.

‘Would you like him to fuck you, darling?’ he asks, leaning over toward Prompto.

Breathlessly, she nods — as an afterthought, she hurriedly adds, ‘Yes sir.’

‘I think he’d like that,’ Ignis replies, sounding almost bored as he looks Gladiolus over. ‘I’m not certain he’s earned the privilege yet, though.’

‘He has,’ Prompto blurts. She’s not even hiding her eagerness now, and it’d be impossible if she wanted to with Gladio still teasing her with his cockhead. ‘I mean — I think he has, sir.’

Ignis gives a chuckle, a candid sound, and his eyes are warm as he turns them on her.

‘I’m not quite so sure,’ he says, his voice rich with amusement. ‘Tell me, pet. What do you think he could do to earn it?’

Prompto realises, with a rush, that this is likely to be a rare treat in the way things play out tonight: that he’s handing her the reins for just a moment, to do with as she pleases. She doesn’t want to push Gladio past his comfort level, but from what she’s seen so far she’s not even sure what his comfort level _is_ any more.

As she meets Gladio’s eye — he wets his lips, watching her eagerly for her response — she runs through all the possible scenarios in her head. She knows that whatever she suggested, within the realms of what Gladiolus would consent to, Ignis would more than likely agree. She could play it safe and give Gladio some small task to complete, and that would probably be enough; but she knows, too, that she wants so much more from him.

‘He could,’ she begins, her voice cracking on her first try. ‘He could blow you.’

‘What was what?’ Ignis prompts. ‘You’ll have to speak up, pet.’

Heat rushes through Prompto — she sees that fire kindling in Gladio’s eyes, his interest more than a little piqued by her suggestion.

‘He could suck you off,’ Prompto says again, more certainly this time. _‘Sir.’_

‘What do you think, Gladiolus?’ Ignis says, glancing toward Gladio. ‘Does that sound like something you think you could do?’

Gladio’s cheeks are burning, red flooding beneath his sallow skin like he’s embarrassed to give his response.

‘Yeah,’ he says quickly — like he’d been waiting to be asked. ‘Yes, sir.’

Ignis turns to Gladiolus, reaching out; grips his jaw and holds his gaze. Gladio’s hand falters where he teases his erection between Prompto’s thighs, but she hardly notices in the tension of the moment.

‘Say it,’ Ignis orders. ‘Tell me what you’re going to do.’

‘I’m gonna,’ Gladio begins, swallowing hard. ‘I’m gonna suck your dick. Sir.’

Ignis seems appeased, at last. He lets go of Gladio’s jaw with a nod and his hand goes to his belt, unbuckling it and slipping it open without so much as the slightest of tremors in his fingers.

He doesn’t undress; just gets his fly open and clambers onto the bed to kneel beside the others where they lie. He’s steady and patient as he slips his cock free, and he gives it a few measured strokes before he leans for the nightstand.

‘Wait,’ Gladio says.

He’s letting the _sir_ act slip, which Prompto figures could set him back a few steps on the whole _earning_ front, but his face is serious as he shoots a look at her, then turns his gaze on Ignis again.

‘You’re, uh,’ he says, uncharacteristically shy. ‘You’re clean, right?’

Ignis blinks. After a pause, he nods.

‘I’ve been tested recently, yes,’ he replies.

Gladiolus licks his lips.

‘I know I’m clean,’ he says. ‘And Prom’s good, so…’

Ignis’s green eyes are a little wide with interest.

‘So…?’ he prompts.

‘So,’ Gladio says. ‘I’m good without. Prompto?’

It takes a second for her to realise he’s addressing her; takes even longer to realise he’s talking about condoms — more specifically, going without them altogether. It’s not something she and Ignis have done, not something she thought would come up with Gladiolus, given the conversations they’ve had about birth control.

‘If you’re okay,’ she murmurs, ‘I’m okay.’

Gladiolus nods.

‘Ignis?’

There’s a pause, and Ignis swallows so hard Prompto can _hear_ it.

‘I’m onboard,’ he replies.

‘Good,’ Gladio says. ‘Now that’s done, get over here. _Sir.’_

His lips twist into a wry smile, and Prompto doesn’t think she could adore him any more than she does right now, watching her boyfriend reach out to grip her — _whatever_ Ignis is — by the thigh and gently steer him closer.

‘Keep teasing her,’ Ignis says, his voice a hurried whisper as Gladio’s fingers close around the base of his cock.

Gladio stops, his mouth an inch away from Ignis’s dick; with a nod, he closes his eyes and takes Ignis into his mouth.

Prompto doesn’t know how he manages it — coordinating one hand where it guides Ignis’s erection fluidly in and out of his mouth, the other teasing his own cock around Prompto’s entrance. Between the feel of him against her and the sight in front of her, it’s all she can do to keep some semblance of control.

She watches greedily — watches the way Ignis threads his fingers through Gladio’s hair, gripping just lightly as he urges Gladio along; watches the way Gladio’s mouth and tongue work readily over Ignis’s cock, his lips straining a little around the thickness of it.

Prompto’s watched this in porn, sure; gotten off to it plenty. Nothing compares to seeing it in action, though, and as she watches Ignis’s careful composure begin to melt away, his long-lashed eyes fluttering shut, she’d give anything to have her camera here just to capture this moment.

It isn’t long before Gladio’s teasing starts to falter again, and Prompto realises he’s pretty far along. His chest is heaving, his skin flushed and dewy with sweat; his thighs are trembling with the effort of holding his climax off. She’s torn — seeing him come is one of her favourite things, but it might put a damper on the moment.

‘I think he’s close, sir,’ she murmurs; her voice draws Ignis’s eyes to her. ‘Maybe he should ease off…’

‘I think that could be allowed,’ Ignis says, in a surprisingly level tone. ‘Why don’t you take over and touch him instead, pet? Make sure he doesn’t get ahead of himself.’

With a nod, Prompto carefully nudges Gladio’s hand out of the way and closes her fingers around the base of his dick. She holds them in place, and for a while she just watches as Gladio bobs his head, taking Ignis’s cock in deeply each time with no trouble at all.

He’s hinted at his exes before — at a less than rigid sexuality. To see it in person is another thing entirely; she’s pleased that Ignis gets to be a party to it.

With her taking over, her hand moving at a decidedly slower pace, Gladio’s seems to double down on Ignis’s cock, his hand and mouth working in tandem. At times he’s quick, taking Ignis between his lips with a sloppy, wet sound; at others he’s tauntingly slow, moving at such a teasing pace that Ignis has to urge him on with what looks like a sharp tug of his hair.

When Ignis is close — and Prompto probably sees it before anybody else, the way he starts to tremble as he always does as his climax begins to crest — he yanks at Gladio’s hair, pulling him away and moving his hips back, slipping free of Gladio’s mouth in one fluid movement. His chest is heaving, the pulse visible at his throat where the topmost buttons of his shirt are undone.

‘You’ve been so good,’ Ignis says, stroking the fingertips of his other hand across Gladio’s lips where they’re flushed and plump with lust. ‘You’ve more than earned yourself a treat. Go on, then.’

Prompto’s breath hitches. This is what she’s been waiting for — her sex throbs in anticipation — and watching Gladio suck Ignis off has only made her want it more. When Gladiolus lowers himself between her legs again it’s a struggle to resist the urge to buck up to meet him, to drag the moment out to prolong it, but she just about manages somehow.

It seems Gladio’s just as intent on continuing to tease her as his eyes hold hers, his hand holding her hip in place as he moves at an impossibly slow pace to line their hips up. He’s being so maddeningly, infuriatingly slow that she could scream with frustration until at last she feels his cockhead part her folds and ease within her, thrusting upward and inward all at once until he’s to the hilt within her.

She gasps; closes her eyes and tips her head back. She can hear Ignis murmuring to Gladiolus, too soft for her to hear.

After another few rolling thrusts from Gladio, she hears the bed springs squeak slightly as weight shifts on them and opens her eyes to find Ignis stepping down to the floor. She opens her mouth to question it — watches him tuck himself within his slacks with considerable difficulty, given how hard he is — but Gladio gently grips her by the chin and turns her eyes back to him.

‘Just us, babe,’ he says.

Prompto swallows and nods.

It’s not that it’s a bad thing to have Gladio to herself again, not when he’s buried within her, but having Ignis be a part of it had been as thrilling as it had been different. When he’d been along for the ride weeks before, giving orders by phone, there’d been something so deliciously _dirty_ that it had made the whole thing that little bit hotter.

She doesn’t argue, though, as Ignis settles himself neatly back into his seat. When she flicks a glance toward him he has his wine glass in hand once more, slaking his thirst while his free hand carefully sweeps the loose strands of his hair out of his face.

A sharp _snap_ of Gladio’s hips brings him front and centre once more in her awareness. She looks at him, a playful protest on her lips, but he shuts her up with a kiss that’s all crushing lips and searching tongue.

There’s a soft sigh from Ignis, and it’s everything Prompto can do not to look over and keep her eyes on Gladio’s instead as he pulls back and thrusts into her once more. She’s torn between the joy of being wrapped up in Gladio, of being watched, of wanting to see things through Ignis’s eyes; it all seems like too much to cram into one evening, and she doesn’t know where to start.

She grounds herself in Gladio’s glance as he pulls back to look at her, grounds herself in the curve of his lips, his strong nose, his dark hair where strands have fallen loose and hang into his eyes.

Something ripples across Gladio’s expression — something glaringly different from the intensity that’s been in place there for most of this. She’s not quite sure if it’s worry, or regret; it’s gone before she can place it. Before she can think to ask if he’s okay, he’s kissing her again, using lips and tongue to resoundingly put such worries out of her head.

When he breaks from her lips, he moves to her ear; his breath is hot against his skin, heaving with each thrust.

‘You wanna really give him a show?’ he growls.

She nods against his shoulder; whatever he has in mind, he’s got her attention.

‘Get up,’ he says, not quite so brisk at giving orders as Ignis, but just as convincing. When he pulls out, Prompto’s reluctant to let him go — but then he’s backing up on the bed, moving to the far edge from Ignis where he turns to face him.

Prompto can take a hint. She moves over to him, and when she expects him to kiss her or sweep her into his arms, he instead grabs her by the waist and twirls her around, making her laugh in surprise.

‘You wanna see me fuck her like this, sir?’ he asks, his words dripping with cocky amusement. If Prompto could see his face, she’s sure he’d be smiling.

Without waiting for Ignis’s response, Gladio pulls her in flush with his hips, so close his cock digs into her ass. With a gasp, she thinks maybe he means to take her there — but he merely holds himself in place, wedged between their bodies, and guides a hand down between her legs. While his fingers part her folds, his face presses into her shoulder, leaving little nips along the surface of it.

The contact of his fingers is good, of course — it’s nothing compared to the look on Ignis’s face, though, as he watches from his armchair like a king on his throne. There’s unguarded interest in his eyes, although he makes a reasonably convincing attempt at composure as he sips from his wine.

The glass is almost empty; Prompto watches him turn and pour himself a healthy serving, carefully setting the bottle aside and considering the liquid before taking another drink from it. It’s only then that he lifts his eyes again to meet Prompto’s, although he speaks to Gladiolus directly as he does so.

‘You’ll take her on all fours,’ he says, sounding almost indifferent. ‘And you’ll not touch her again until you have my permission. Understood?’

Gladio doesn’t obey right away, if anything doubling down on his ministrations between Prompto’s thighs, so much so that she can hardly stifle a whimper as his fingers swirl over her clit.

There’s a creak from across the room. At first, Prompto thinks it’s Ignis moving again — but when she looks over, the nails of his free hand are biting into the arm of his chair, the leather protesting. There’s a cold look in his eyes, as though he’s completely unamused by Gladio’s disobedience.

‘Gladio,’ he says, sharply. ‘I won't repeat myself.’

The authority in his tone really _is_ a turn-on, almost more so for the fact that it’s directed at somebody other than Prompto. There’s a little part of her that hopes Gladio will keep up his misbehaving, if only to see what sort of punishment Ignis might mete out for him.

She’s destined not to find out, however, as Gladio slips his hand from between her folds and moves it instead with his other to grip her hips. He sinks his teeth into her shoulder and, just when she thinks she can’t take it any more, he pulls free and uses his grasp on her hips to push her on all fours.

From this angle, she has the perfect view of Ignis — and she figures he has the perfect view of her with Gladio, where he kneels behind her.

Even though he can’t see where their bodies juxtapose, he seems to tell well enough when Gladio’s about to press into her once more; maybe it’s the tension, the anticipation written across her features just as the head of Gladio’s cock begins to open her again. Whatever the case, Ignis raises a hand to halt Gladio and Prompto feels his progress stop all of a sudden.

‘Do you want it, pet?’ Ignis asks, his green eyes on Prompto’s.

She nods hurriedly, eager to play along.

‘Yes, sir.’

Ignis’s lips curl just slightly as he considers her for a moment, sipping his wine delicately while he thinks.

‘Do you need it, pet?’

 _Need_ is such a strong word — and yet it rings right through Prompto, settling somewhere low in her belly where the heat of arousal has taken root.

‘Yes, sir,’ she says. It’s harder to keep the longing from her voice — as if to tease her all the more, Gladio pulls back just a little, so that his cock’s barely brushing against her opening.

‘Tell me,’ Ignis says. ‘Tell me what you need.’

Heat creeps across Prompto’s cheeks; she glances away in embarrassment as she responds.

‘I need him to fuck me,’ she murmurs. It’s amazing that she can be self-conscious even now, after everything, but something about being so candid about her desires feels like laying herself bare.

‘You need him to fuck you, _sir,’_ Ignis corrects her. ‘And look at me when you speak, like a good girl.’

Prompto’s face feels like it’s on fire as she lifts her glance to look at him. Although there’s a softness to his expression — a softness he’s reserved only for her tonight — she can’t help but feel the weight of what it would mean to disappoint him. It’s fun for her to play at being the brat, but tonight she’s happy to leave that role to Gladio. She wants only to please Ignis; to do exactly as she’s told, and reap the rewards of her obedience.

‘That’s better,’ Ignis says gently. ‘Gladiolus, give the girl what she wants — one thrust, and then pull out.’

This time, Gladio obeys to the letter; he guides his erection into her in one swift, fluid thrust, pulling out before she can even react. The suddenness of it, the wonderful pressure of him within her, only to be removed so suddenly, makes her gasp.

‘Good,’ Ignis says. ‘Did you enjoy that, pet?’

Prompto blinks; nods, quickly.

‘Yes, sir.’

‘That was enough for you, was it?’ he says. ‘Perhaps we can wrap up for the evening.’

If he’s playing coy just to tease her, he’s convincing enough that he’s being serious as he raises his hand again with a dismissive gesture toward Gladio. Prompto’s heart lurches into her throat — he couldn’t possibly mean to leave it at that, after all of these games, all this teasing.

‘No!’ she blurts.

Surprise registers on Ignis’s face; he gives her a look of disapproval, and she immediately regrets speaking out.

‘I— I mean,’ she stammers. ‘Please, sir.’

‘Please what?’

Prompto swallows. He’s really going to make her spell it out, like he knows how _dirty_ it makes her feel to be so forward.

‘Please, I need more.’

Ignis considers it long and hard; Prompto feels Gladio’s fingernails dig bluntly into her hips, as though he too is starting to feel the anticipation. She wonders if he’ll just do away with their little game of obedience and fuck her anyway, but to her surprise — and dismay — he remains where he is, his cock a feather’s breadth from her.

‘Very well,’ Ignis says, eventually. ‘Once more, Gladiolus. Slower, this time.’

Although Prompto has warning, she still fails to predict just how _good_ it feels as Gladio eases into her, his considerable girth spreading her open with each inch he moves. He lingers once he’s all the way inside her, so deep she feels like she’s never been more full in all her life, but with a wave of Ignis’s hand he’s soon pulling out once more.

‘Enough for you, pet?’ Ignis asks, his eyes dancing with mischief.

‘No, sir,’ Prompto says, practically whining with need. ‘I want more…’

‘More of what, Prompto?’ Ignis urges. ‘His cock inside you? You love to feel him filling you, don’t you, darling?’

Prompto nods, but Ignis hardly misses a beat before he’s speaking again.

‘Say it, pet,’ he says. His voice is beginning to hitch, as though his own excitement is getting the better of him. ‘Tell me how badly you want him.’

‘I want him inside me,’ Prompto says.

A sharp laugh from Ignis — ‘Now now, you can do a better job than that! _Convince_ me.’

‘I— I need him,’ Prompto stutters.

There’s a slight gesture from Ignis and Prompto feels Gladio begin to push inside her once more, but with another flick of Ignis’s hand he pulls out again.

‘Please,’ Prompto says, her voice a whine now — she can’t put up with the teasing any more, not now. ‘Please, sir. I need it. I need him inside me.’

‘Do you need him to fuck you, Prompto?’

‘Yes, sir,’ she replies, nodding frantically as sweat rolls down her neck. ‘I need him to fuck me. Please, please sir.’

Another gesture from Ignis and Gladio’s thrusting into her again, slowly and beautifully, and _again_ Ignis motions for him to pull out.

It’s too much — Prompto’s aching for more, her hips trembling from the effort that it takes for her to keep from grinding back onto Gladio’s dick, the effort of doing as she’s told. Gladio’s hands have gone clammy where he grips her, and she can hear him breathing, heavy and beleaguered, like he’s struggling to keep from losing control.

‘Beg for it, pet,’ Ignis orders.

‘Please,’ Prompto says, her voice cracking midway through the word. ‘Please, I need him to fuck me. Please, sir. I want him to fill me up.’

Her eyes are so focused on Ignis’s — on the cool green, sparkling devilishly in the mood lighting — that she doesn’t realise he’s gesturing again until she feels Gladiolus begin to fill her once more. She feels herself contract around his length as he goes, as if to keep him from pulling out again; the motion of it prompts a moan from his lips and she can only imagine how good he must look where he kneels behind her, his tanned skin slick with perspiration.

Mercifully, Ignis doesn’t make Gladiolus pull out. Instead, he gives a nod and that sets Gladio thrusting methodically back and forth within her.

Where Ignis sits, he adjusts his position, unfolding his legs and crossing them the other way, as though it pains him to sit still. Although he’s the most put-together of the three of them, still fully clothed, there are subtle signs of his discomposure: the way his lips hang open just slightly, plump and pink with arousal; the way his knuckles go white from the effort of gripping his wine glass; the way his chest heaves beneath the pressed confines of his shirt.

‘That’s it,’ he says, his voice barely more than an enlivened whisper. ‘Yes, that’s it.’

His pressing his thighs together, Prompto realises — pinning his erection between them. She wishes he were closer so she could touch him, so she could take his swollen cock into her hands, could let him take her by the mouth while Gladio fucks her from behind.

She almosts asks for it — her voice hitches in her throat as the request hits the tip of her tongue — but she’s scared Ignis will refuse. Her eyes squeeze shut, the better to savour the mental image instead.

‘Tell me what you want, Prompto,’ Ignis says, his voice a growl.

‘I want Gladio to touch me, sir,’ she says, lifting her glance to his.

‘No,’ he says. With that single syllable, she feels a heavy weight slip into her stomach — the weight of disappointing him. ‘Don’t lie, pet. Tell me what you really want.’

‘I want,’ Prompto begins — she breaks off with a moan as Gladio gives a particularly forceful thrust. ‘I want your cock in my mouth.’

Ignis lifts his chin; a ripple crosses his jaw as he flexes it slightly.

‘Is that any way to ask, darling?’ he prompts. ‘Where are your manners?’

Shame washes over Prompto, unbidden — shame for failing him. She bites her lip and tries again.

‘Please let me taste you, sir,’ she pleads. ‘Please let me make you come.’

She thinks maybe he’ll refuse on principle, but her heart leaps with glee as he sets his wine glass aside and strides towards the bed. For the second time this evening he opens his fly, slipping his cock free as he steps up in front of her at the edge of the mattress. His cock's all red and thick, and when Ignis grips it and guides the tip of it across her bottom lip, smearing precum as he goes, the head of it is impossibly hot.

‘Lick your lips clean,’ he barks.

When Prompto obeys, the taste is unbearably tantalising — she clenches involuntarily around Gladio’s length and hears him grunt in surprise.

‘Would you like some more, darling?’ Ignis asks. ‘Look at me when you answer me.’

Prompto tilts her head upward. Where she rests on hands and knees in front of him, he seems to tower above her, his face cast in shadow by the lighting overhead.

‘Yes please,’ Prompto says. ‘Please let me taste some more.’

Again, Ignis guides his cock over her lips, smearing precum liberally around them, and she has to bite back a moan with the exertion of keeping from darting her tongue out. It doesn’t help matters when Gladio’s rhythm falters and he hits her with a particularly rough thrust, the contact almost sending her stumbling face-first into Ignis until he pulls away at the last moment and uses his hand to steady her shoulder.

‘Careful now, Gladiolus,’ he says. ‘Close, are you?’

A grunt from Gladio; she thinks she can feel his hands shaking where they hold onto her.

‘Yes, sir.’

Ignis nods elusively.

‘You’re not to come yet,’ he says. ‘Not until I allow you to.’

‘Yes, sir.’

His eyes return to Prompto; he inclines his head towards her.

‘Go on, then,’ he says. ‘Taste it, if you want it so badly.’

She wastes no time in licking her lips clean, savouring it. Before long he’s guiding his cock towards her mouth again, rubbing the head of it over her lips and tongue alike. She can feel precum leaking liberally from the tip of him, and she lets her tongue dart out to chase up every drop as though she’s afraid to waste any of it.

Gladio’s thrusts falter again; he’s panting, hard and uneven.

‘Don’t come,’ Ignis snaps. ‘Go slowly if you have to, but don’t you _dare_ come.’

Prompto wonders if his tone is enough to almost send Gladio over the edge — it certainly sends a pang of need through her, right to her core. She figures maybe she’s right when Gladio stops suddenly, his fingers digging painfully into her hips with the effort of keeping himself from crashing over the brink. After a pause, he’s moving again, albeit at a slower, more moderate pace, each thrust a steady inward push where he lingers for a long while within her before pulling out again.

In front of her, Ignis still rolls the head of his erection over her lips, milking the salty liquid from it with his hand so that it drips onto her eager tongue. She gives a moan, her sex rhythmically tightening around Gladio’s length now, and before long her eyelids are fluttering shut.

‘Open your mouth, darling,’ Ignis murmurs, tilting her chin upward with his other hand as she parts her lips for him. ‘There’s a good girl, you’re such a good pet.’

He times it so that he’s easing into her mouth just as Gladio thrusts slowly within; the effect of being filled from both sides is enough to have her groaning around Ignis’s cock. Behind her, Gladio gives a laboured moan and he falls still within her, as though afraid to move.

‘My my,’ Ignis says, to Gladiolus. ‘You _are_ close, aren’t you? I bet you’d love to come, wouldn’t you?’

‘Yessir,’ Gladio replies, the words slurring into one.

‘What do you think, Prompto?’ Ignis says. He slips free of her mouth to let her answer; her lips, wet and hot, make an obscene sound as his cock slides out. ‘Shall we let him come?’

‘Yes, sir,’ Prompto breathes. ‘Let him come, sir.’

‘In a bit, perhaps,’ Ignis says thoughtfully. ‘He’ll have to endure a while longer.’

There’s a moan from Gladio, a pitiful sound like nothing Prompto’s ever heard, and she feels his weight fall against her slightly as though he’s struggling to keep upright.

Steadily, Ignis’s erection enters Prompto’s mouth. She feels his hand caress her cheek, then move to brush her hair out of her face — it’s a sweaty mess by now, she’s sure, but as she opens her eyes and glances up to see the approving look on his face, she doesn’t care — before it finds her shoulder and braces her there.

‘Harder, Gladio,’ Ignis commands. ‘She’ll not break if you’re rough with her.’

At the mention of the word _rough,_ pleasure pulses through Prompto like electricity. She feels Gladio’s body answer where words fail him, their bodies making slick, wet sounds where they meet as he picks up the pace. With each thrust he shunts her forward a little and Ignis responds by fucking his cock into her mouth, and before long he’s going so deep she can’t help but gag a little on the length of it.

‘Gonna come,’ Gladiolus warns gruffly.

‘Not yet,’ Ignis replies — and he’s breathless now, his cheeks deep red with arousal as he uses Prompto’s mouth for his own pleasure.

Prompto moans around his length again, feels his cockhead meet her throat; feels Gladio start to falter behind her, his hands pawing at her hips.

‘Ain’t got a choice—’ Gladio blurts.

‘Not _yet.’_

It’s a whirlwind of sensations, of sights, of sounds — the saltiness of Ignis’s precum floods Prompto’s mouth, filling her throat as Gladio’s cock fills her pussy in turn, and Gladio’s hands are digging into her hips now, so hard she’s sure they’ll bruise. He fills her up so _good,_ makes her feel _whole,_ makes her _ache_ for him to spill into her and fill her with his release, and all the while Ignis never lets up with his thrusts, so hard and purposeful that for a moment she forgets to breathe.

Her climax is upon her before she knows it — her clit is swollen and throbbing even though it's gone untouched, and the pleasure starts not  _there_ but from somewhere deep within her, emanating outward in powerful waves. As she chokes out a feral sound around Ignis’s cock — she’s sure it’d be a scream, if it weren’t muffled by the girth of him — she hears Ignis’s voice give a single, clipped command.

‘Come, Gladio.’

The world goes white; Prompto feels like she’s been hit by a flashbang, her ears ringing so loud it’s deafening. Pleasure still washes over her, and it’s not a single climax any more — each wave crests over the next, orgasms rolling in one after the other as Gladio’s hips buck hard and fast into her, heat spilling inside of her.

Over the ringing of her ears she can hear Gladio’s shout of pleasure, and it almost sounds like pain; it’s a curious noise, and it seems to echo through her head long after his thrusts have stopped and her own release has begun to die down.

She barely realises Ignis has slipped free of her lips until he tilts her chin upwards again, his thumb and fingers pressing into her jaw to open her mouth in a wide O. She looks up at him, and her vision swims but she holds onto the sight of him — of his cock at first, the head of it purple with strain as he hurriedly strokes it, and then of his face contorted in concentration.

Her tongue’s ready and waiting as he finds his own climax, a moan escaping his lips that sounds more dignified and elegant than can be said of either of Ignis’s bedfellows tonight. As he spills onto Prompto’s tongue, his cum sweeter tasting than most, she accepts every last drop of it gladly, looking up at him with reverent attention.

When he’s done, his shoulders slump just slightly and his grip on her jaw relaxes. Prompto closes her mouth, swallows his seed down willingly; behind her, Gladio’s hands give her hips a gentle squeeze, as if in encouragement, before she feels him pull out.

The bed dips slightly as he moves, the mattress creaking under his weight until he slumps down elsewhere on the bed. As he reaches a hand out to gently stroke her flank she finds Ignis looking down at her, his eyes surprisingly alert in the wake of his climax.

‘Are you all right, pet?’ Ignis asks.

She nods. Tries to speak, but between the rawness of her throat and the aftershocks of such a powerful orgasm, she can barely let out more than a gasp.

‘Lie down, my love,’ he murmurs.

The words keep playing in her head — _my love, my love —_ as he tucks himself away. When she doesn’t immediately move he gently leans forward and nudges her, and with Gladio’s hand at her other side, between the two of them they manage to guide her until she’s lying down, her face at Gladio’s shoulder as he cradles her in his arms.

She feels weird — distant, somehow. Like none of this is real, like she’s looking in on someone else’s world. Even the heat of Gladiolus against her, the musky, familiar scent of him, seems a thousand miles away.

She wants to cry — she’s pretty sure she’s _going_ to cry — but then she feels a weight settle over her as Ignis covers her with the comforter, and it doesn’t seem quite so bad as he slips in underneath and nestles behind her, his hand stroking tenderly through her hair.

‘You’ll be all right, darling,’ he murmurs. ‘We’re here.’

 _We’re,_ he’d said — not just him, but Gladio; Gladio, who gently cups her chin and looks into her eyes before pressing a delicate kiss to her forehead.

It’s this that sets her off, fat tears leaking down her cheeks. She’s embarrassed; embarrassed for crying, embarrassed for all the things they’ve done tonight. But as Gladio pulls her against his shoulder and cradles her head with his arm, and as Ignis presses a sweet kiss to the shell of her ear, the overwhelming feeling that washes over her at this moment is one of safety, one of security.

She doesn’t need to be ashamed; they’re not judging her, either one of them.

And still, Ignis’s voices echoes in her ears, though all words have long since died down.

_My love. My love._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I... think I gave _myself_ sub drop with this one.


	16. The Birthday Girl

After a muggy summer, a crisp fall settles over Insomnia. The coolness is a welcome reprieve, but even though fall is Prompto’s favourite season — pumpkin spice lattes, cosy knitted sweaters, and her birthday — she’s a little less jazzed about the turn to colder weather when it comes to her apartment.

Iris is more than happy to drop a little extra on utilities to keep the place toasty, but when the old-fashioned radiators aren’t running on full-blast — or whenever they’re on the fritz — the apartment seems to plummet to sub-zero even before winter rolls in.

Prompto’s more than grateful for Ignis’s place, with his underfloor heating and piping hot showers. She’s even more grateful for the cardigan he lets her borrow, big and cosy and perfused with the scent of his cologne.

She wraps that cardigan tighter around herself now as she stands out on the balcony of his home. In the distance ahead, the lakes sparkle in the early-morning light, muted by the mist that clings low over the surface of the water.

The past few months have been such a whirlwind, she’s barely had time to catch her breath; after the first night she spent with both Gladio and Ignis here, she’s settled into something of an unconventional rhythm with the two of them, spending more time at each of their homes than in her own bed. When she’s not wrapped up in either of them — or, on rare, amazing occasions,  _ both _ of them — she’s hanging out with Iris, or working, or attending her internship at  _ Free _ where she has the privilege of working directly under Vyv to learn the tools of the trade.

Then there’s everything with Ignis: the dynamic they seem to have slipped into, as though it’s second nature. By day he brings her on picnics, or shopping, or treats her to pleasant day trips out of the city; by night, he’s a different man entirely, and she a different woman.

In all of this, Gladiolus is her north star — Gladio with his cocky grin, the warmth of his amber eyes, the big hugs he wraps her up in that make her feel like nothing could ever hurt her again. Ignis might be glamour and excitement and discipline between the sheets, but Gladio is steady and reassuring, one constant in the ever-fluctuating landscape of the past year.

She hears the glass doors slide open behind her, and the soft sound of Ignis’s footsteps crossing the balcony. He steps up close to her, wrapping his arms around her waist and kissing her shoulder.

‘Looking forward to tonight, darling?’

Even though it’s still early — earlier than she’d like, but he has to go to the office for a few hours — he’s already showered, his voice awake and alert.

Prompto sighs and sinks back against him. She crosses her arms over his and hugs them close.

‘I guess,’ she says. ‘Still don’t see why Iris has to make such a big deal of it.’

‘It’s your birthday party,’ Ignis replies at her ear. ‘And I daresay Gladiolus had a hand in arranging it, at any rate.’

_ He’s probably not even going to be there. _

Prompto keeps the thought to herself. She’s already disappointed that Gladio wound up called into a back-to-back shift on her birthday; whining to Ignis about it won’t change anything.

Besides, she’s not annoyed with Gladio — she’s upset that Ignis will get to be there, but he won’t.

‘Maybe,’ she says. 

She has nothing else to say about it, and Ignis seems happy enough to hold her in silence, enveloping her in his warmth. She could quite happily stay like this for hours, but she knows it won’t last. Sure enough, he pulls away with a sigh before long.

‘Dino will be here soon,’ he says. ‘You should get dressed before he shows up.’

‘I  _ am _ dressed,’ Prompto protests, twirling to face him.

He chuckles softly and plucks at the hem of the cardigan she wears.

‘While I have no issue with you wearing my clothes,’ he says, ‘I’m not sure this counts.’

Other than the cardigan, she’s also in a pair of sweatpants she grabbed from his closet. With only a bra on beneath the cardigan, she might be technically  _ dressed _ but she’s not quite ready to face the day.

She heaves a sigh and slumps against him, resting her head on his shoulder.

‘See?’ she whines. ‘I’m gonna have to get all dressed up for the party later, too. Birthdays  _ suck.’ _

This earns another laugh from Ignis, and the soft threading of his fingers through her hair.

‘It’s only a few hours out of your day, love,’ he reassures her. ‘Although if it bothers you this much, why not cancel? I’m sure Iris would understand.’

‘No,’ Prompto sighs. ‘She’s been planning this forever. I’ll suck it up.’

Reluctantly, she pushes away from him; together they head back into the house, Ignis slipping his hand comfortably into the small of her back.

He helps gather up her things while she dresses, and it takes him a second lap around the room to make sure he’s caught everything. She never really realises how much she brings along when she stays over — the essential pieces of makeup, the toiletries, the spare changes of clothes. It’s all right at the weekend, but if she’s sleeping over after work she has to lug a bag full of all her shit with her to the depot in the morning.

It’d be easier, she thinks, if she didn’t live so far away — and it occurs to her, however fleetingly, that there might come a day when maybe they’re actually living  _ together. _ That’s still a ways down the line, of course, and she doesn’t even want to consider the possibility that she’ll have to pick and choose between Ignis and Gladio when that day arrives, but she still can’t help tensing as the thought crosses her mind.

Ignis, observant as ever, seems to spot her hesitance as he sets her duffel bag down on the floor beside her.

‘Everything all right?’ he asks.

She worries at her lip as she finishes buckling her boots. When she sits up straight, she gives a shrug.

‘I don’t know,’ she says. ‘Just wishing I didn’t have so much junk to bring over all the time, I guess.’

She neglects to mention the part about her little dilemma. They’ve only been seeing each other for a few months — the last thing she needs to do is freak him out by rushing things.

‘I’d suggest you bring less of your belongings,’ Ignis says, with a wry smile, ‘but I know there’s a fat chance of that.’

She swats at him in mock annoyance; as he playfully fends her off, gently catching her wrist, a serious look crosses his eyes.

He lets go of her wrist then and moves his hand to stroke her cheek. It amazes her that even now, months after their first kiss — well,  _ officially, _ anyway — he can still render her speechless with such tiny acts of intimacy.

‘I’m certain I can make some room for your things,’ he says. ‘A couple of drawers, some space in the wardrobe…’

Prompto’s pretty sure, as she sits and looks into Ignis’s eyes, that her heart skips a handful of beats. So it’s not moving in together, but the whole drawer thing is a big step — one she’s already taken with Gladio, granted, but a big step nonetheless.

‘Sure!’ she blurts. It occurs to her maybe she’s being a little over-eager, so she tries for something more casual: ‘I mean — that sounds good.’

Ignis doesn’t seem to mind her enthusiasm. He gives a warm smile, his eyes crinkling, and leans forward to give her a quick peck on the lips.

‘It’s settled, then,’ he says.

They’re on their way to the door when he stops her suddenly; without a word he scurries away for a moment and returns with a flat gift wrapped with a bow.

‘You didn’t have to—’ she begins, but he shakes his head and presses the gift into her grasp.

‘It’s your birthday,’ he insists. ‘Whether or not I  _ had _ to, I  _ wanted _ to.’

It’s not technically her birthday — not until Thursday, anyway — but she doesn’t argue the semantics.

She feels self-conscious as she takes it from his hands. He’s given her so much already — fancy clothes, lingerie, beautiful jewellery. Something about a birthday present from him makes her feel awkward, but then she’s always been that way about birthdays.

Whatever’s inside the wrapping, it’s rigid and has a little weight to it, although it’s thinner than a book. She’s not sure what to expect as she opens it, and she can only stare at it in bemusement when she peels the paper away to reveal something that looks like a restaurant menu. There’s an inscription in gold on the front with the name of the eatery.

_ Tournesol _ _   
_ _ 12 Rue Étoile _

‘What is this?’ she asks, with a confused smile.

Ignis says nothing; only gives her an encouraging glance and nods his head towards the menu.

When she opens it, there’s a handwritten note wedged between the pages listing the entrées _. _ It only says one word in Ignis’s neat script:  _ Dinner? _

It seems a contrived way to invite her out on a date, but Prompto plays along.

‘Tournesol?’ she says. ‘Where is that?’

Ignis is elusive — mischievous.

‘It’s my favourite bistro,’ he replies. ‘A beautiful little place on the Île de la Cité, very intimate.’

Prompto wrinkles her nose.

‘Île de la Cité?’

‘Paris,’ Ignis says, his eyes twinkling. ‘The end of November, perhaps? Should give you plenty of time to fast-track a passport application.’

Prompto can only stare at him blankly as the words sink in. Paris. Passport. End of November. They’d shared banter about it, on their first date: the things there were to do in Paris. She’d never thought back then that any of it might become reality.

‘Ignis,’ she says, shaking her head in wide-eyed disbelief. ‘You didn’t buy tickets, did you?’

‘Not yet,’ Ignis replies. ‘I know it can be a bit… overwhelming when I surprise you with gifts, so I thought I’d proceed with caution this time. I’m more than willing to book the flights as soon as you give me the go-ahead, of course.’

A few months ago, it would’ve been too much — but then, a few months ago, Prompto didn’t know Ignis as well as she does now. Maybe they’re not quite on the  _ boyfriend and girlfriend _ level; maybe talk of moving in together is far into the future, if ever. Going on a trip to Paris together, though, sounds romantic — and perfect.

‘Okay,’ she says, splitting into a grin. ‘Let’s do it. Let’s go to Paris.’

* * *

Prompto shoots a glance at her phone. Much like the last time she checked, the screen is still dark — no word from Gladio, not since he texted her to say he’d been flat-out all day. There’s a part of her still holding out hope that he’ll make it out tonight, but it’s dwindling by the minute.

Oh well. No point in ruining things before they’ve even begun; she sighs and turns her phone face-down before returning her attention to her makeup.

It’s just a shindig at the apartment with a few friends, but it’ll be the first time anyone other than Iris meets Ignis. She knows a couple coworkers are more than a little curious about her mysterious beau, especially after the stunt he pulled with the lingerie.

A knock sounds at the door, soft and unhurried.

‘C’min,’ she calls, knowing it’s just Iris.

Iris wears a bright pink off-the-shoulder  _ I ❤ Insomnia _ shirt, denim short-shorts, and leg-warmers above her sneakers. It should be a hideous look, but somehow it’s quirky and cute on her. Her earrings of choice are a pair of outrageously huge hoop earrings which brush her shoulders whenever she turns her head, and her dark hair is pulled up into a high ponytail, secured with a neon yellow scrunchie.

The theme of the night is the eighties — Ignis had teased that neither Prompto nor Iris were alive in the eighties — and for the most part, that means bad hair and garish clothes.

‘Found the hairspray,’ Iris says, proffering the can. ‘You think you can do it, or you want me to give you a hand?’

Prompto throws her friend a meek look in the mirror.

‘Better stick around to help,’ she says. ‘I’ll probably wind up blinding myself.’

Together they manage to tease, backcomb, crimp and spray Prompto’s hair into an appropriately eighties-inspired do with a deep side part and more volume than Prompto had ever thought possible. Iris finishes it off with a black ribbon hair tie, and the end result — at least, Prompto thinks — isn’t half bad.

The outfit had mostly involved a lot of thrift shopping: a black dress, cinched in at the waist and poofy in the skirt; black lace pantyhose; black lace fingerless gloves; black high-heeled boots, and a huge, gaudy cross which dangles just below her cleavage. It’s an iconic Madonna look, not that either of them had known it to begin with — Prompto had gotten the idea from a costume the main character wore once on  _ Veronica Mars. _

She finishes it off with the tacky ring that Gladiolus got her on their date at the market months ago; not technically in-costume, but it seems to fit the aesthetic.

‘Would you crack a window?’ Prompto asks with a grimace, waving a hand in front of her face to ward off the fumes from the hairspray. ‘I feel like I’m dying here.’

With a snort, Iris pushes off from the back of Prompto’s chair and heads for the window. The buzzer goes off while she’s yanking on the rusted old catch in a bid to open it; Prompto slips out of her seat and scurries through to the intercom.

‘Yeah?’ she says, as she pushes the button to answer.

‘It’s Ignis.’

Her heart leaps; it takes her half a second to hit the button to unlock the front door.

‘I’ll leave the door open,’ she says. ‘Still getting ready.’

There are a few finishing touches left to make: a coat of dark red lipstick, a last dusting of highlight, and she’s done. Ignis pops his head around her bedroom door just as she’s neatening her lipstick and she feels that rush again, that excitement over seeing him even though they were together this morning and all of last night.

‘Hey,’ she says, hopping to her feet with a grin.

He smiles, a little more demure.

‘Hey.’

If Iris is cute in her getup, Ignis is showstopping; he’s sporting a floppy quiff, high-waisted pants, a dark tee and a slouchy suit jacket rolled up at the elbows. He looks like something out of a movie — which, Prompto guesses, would make  _ her _ the love interest.

She wastes no time in crossing the room to him and slipping her arms around his neck, pulling him into a kiss. Somewhere nearby, Iris gives an awkward cough.

‘Sorry,’ Prompto says, her cheeks blazing. She taps Ignis on the chest and nods her head into the main room of the apartment. ‘Wanna help finish setting up?’

Guests begin to show up while they work — a couple friends from college, friends from work, the buddy Prompto and Iris picked up at the gym for the brief period that Prompto had been the sort of person who goes to the gym. Every time the buzzer goes off, Prompto hopes that it’ll be Gladio; whenever it’s not, she casts a look at her phone and feels resounding disappointment to find there are no messages waiting for her.  

Noctis shows up at some point, too; he and Iris have been seeing each other for the past few months, and he’s become a regular feature around the apartment.

Things kick into full swing by nine, with Iris on DJ duty blasting only the cheesiest of eighties tunes, and alcohol flowing freely. It’s a little easier for Prompto to distract herself from Gladio’s absence with a belly full of colourful cocktails, although when the buzzer sounds out again at a quarter of ten she practically breaks her neck in her haste to get to the intercom.

‘Gladdy?’ she blurts.

‘Prompto?’

That… isn’t Gladiolus.

It takes Prompto an embarrassingly long time to recognise the voice — to realise it belongs to her father. With a lurch, she slams the unlock button and calls him upstairs.

‘Iris,’ she bellows, turning toward the living room.

She’s red in the cheeks from the alcohol knocking around in her system, and as excited as she is to see her father — it’s been over a year since they last had the chance to visit with one another — she’d hoped to be a little more sober when she next saw him.

Iris plays innocent as she makes her way through the modest crowd gathered in their apartment. She can’t keep it up for long, though; she soon splits into a grin.

‘I’ve been dying to tell you for  _ weeks,’ _ she says. ‘It was all Gladdy’s idea — save the gratitude for him.’

Prompto’s torn between shoving her friend and pulling her into a hug. She does the latter in the end, squeezing Iris tight. There might be tears on her cheeks, but she’d insist it was her makeup’s fault if pressed.

There are more tears once her father shows up at her door, and a massive bear hug that makes her feel like a little kid again. Her dad smells like the cold, like the city smog, but he smells like  _ home, _ too — like their dog, like the simple soap he uses, like the faint tang of motor oil from the shop that never quite washes off his skin.

‘I can’t believe you’re here!’ she squeaks. ‘When did you get here? How long are you staying? How the  _ hell _ did you and Iris plan all of this?’

If she’s sunshine and exuberance, her father is the opposite. As tall and dark as she is fair and petite, Cor Leonis is a man of few words with a laconic wit that could draw blood. As different as they are, however, she’s always been a daddy’s girl.

He patiently waits through the flood of questions until Prompto’s got them out of her system, and when she slips an arm around his waist and he around her shoulders, he lets her lead him into the apartment toward the rest of the partygoers.

There are too many people here to introduce him to — the music’s too loud and distracting for it, anyway. He’s met Iris before, and evidently they’ve been in contact recently, so they only need the briefest of greetings. After, she finds Ignis and drags Cor over to him where he stands by the stock of alcohol.

‘This is Ignis!’ she says brightly, faltering as it occurs to her that she doesn’t quite know how to introduce him.

‘Uh, Ignis, this is my dad,’ she continues, picking up as though nothing’s wrong. ‘Cor Leonis.’

The two men shake hands, and Prompto surreptitiously watches her father’s expression for any indication of what he’s thinking. She wonders if he’s pieced together that they’re an item; if he realises Ignis has almost a full decade on her. 

Iris steps in to save the day, however, bright and effusive as she interjects.

‘This is Noct,’ she says, tugging Noctis over by the arm. ‘Cor is Prom’s dad.’

While Cor is distracted with this new introduction, Prompto nods to Ignis and shoots a pointed glance away from the group.

‘Come help me in the kitchen?’ she says.

She tugs him along by the hand, shooting a quick look behind her as she goes to make sure her father isn’t watching. Once they’re out of view behind the pillar of the kitchenette, she chews her lip with a meek glance up at Ignis.

‘So I  _ kind of _ haven’t told him about us,’ she says. ‘Not yet, I mean. I didn’t… really know how to bring it up.’

Ignis seems unaffected, brushing aside her worries with a gentle hand on her shoulder.

‘Prompto,’ he says. ‘You don’t need to explain. I understand.’

There’s such a hubbub outside that she doesn’t hear the buzzer when it goes off again; doesn’t hear the door opening. It’s only once she hears Iris’s high-pitched squeal elsewhere that she pokes her head around the pillar to see what’s up.

Gladio’s at the door, in faded blue jeans and hi-tops, a leather jacket slung over his arm. A white tee clings to his torso and biceps in a way that might be distracting if Prompto weren’t too busy dashing across the apartment to throw her arms around him.

‘You came,’ she says, burying her face in his neck as he wraps his arms around her.

‘Sorry I’m late, babe,’ he murmurs. ‘Promise I’ll make it up to you.’

She pulls back to look up at him; for the first time she notices that his thick, dark hair hangs long and loose, thrown over to one side of his head. With a grin, she plucks at a strand of it and stretches up on tiptoes to touch a kiss to his lips.

‘You don’t need to do that,’ she replies. ‘I’m just glad you’re here.’

The commotion seems to draw Cor’s attention; he meanders over and Prompto feels a heavy hand rest on her shoulder, the only thing strong enough to break her glance from Gladio even for a moment.

‘Gladiolus, is it?’ Cor says, as Prompto steps away. ‘Iris told me it was your idea to have me fly out.’

The urge to hug Gladio comes over Prompto again, so strong she has to fight to resist it. She settles for grasping his hand and giving it a tight squeeze.

‘Yeah,’ Prompto says. ‘Gladio, Cor. Dad, Gladio. Who is totally  _ dead _ for keeping this a secret.'

Gladio’s deep laugh rings out and he gives her hand a squeeze in turn, reaching out with his free hand to shake Cor’s. It’s a scene Prompto’s pictured, idly: the  _ meet the parents _ routine. It’s not quite how she’d planned for it to play out, but she can’t say it turned out too badly, all things considered.

‘You never told me you had a boyfriend, Prompto,’ Cor says wryly. ‘Afraid I’ll run this one off?’

‘You can  _ try,’ _ Prompto protests, with a pout.

There’s another gravelly laugh from Gladiolus and he gives some good-humoured retort, but Prompto’s not listening; her eyes are trained across the room where Ignis stands by the breakfast bar, a drink in hand.

His expression’s neutral as he lifts his glass by way of greeting, but she thinks she sees something flicker across his eyes, something that makes her stomach sink.

* * *

While Prompto can’t hold her liquor, Cor most certainly  _ can. _ Many have tried to match him drink for drink, but Gladiolus is the first person Prompto has ever seen succeed. The alcohol makes both men chatty, and it’s easy enough for her to leave the two of them to get to know one another while she makes her rounds of the party, stopping in with Ignis from time to time.

She’s never thought he seemed out of place in her apartment; never, before tonight.

It’s after midnight when  _ he _ seeks her out for the first time, while she and Iris recount a tale from college with an old classmate. He pulls her aside, gentle and discreet, leaning close to her ear to be heard over the music.

‘I’m heading home,’ he says. ‘Afraid these old bones aren’t cut out for it any more.’

_ Old _ isn’t exactly what Prompto would call Ignis, so she makes a face and gently pokes him in the chest.

‘You are  _ not _ going home,’ she says. She’s tipsy; a little braver than she might usually be.

‘I’ll call you in the morning, darling,’ Ignis says with a laugh. ‘Try to sober up a bit before you get to bed.’

She pouts, but she can tell there’s no use in arguing. Come to think of it, he’s seemed a little distant for most of the night — like he’d wished he could be somewhere else. Maybe he’s been meaning to leave for hours and only got the chance to pull her aside now.

‘Are you mad at me?’ she blurts before he can get too far away from her. ‘Is it ‘cause of my dad?’

Ignis sighs and shakes his head firmly. He takes her hand in his, and she realises it’s the first time he’s shown her any intimacy since Cor showed up.

‘I’m not mad,’ he says emphatically. ‘I promise. I’ll call you tomorrow, all right? Please — enjoy the rest of your night.’

In spite of his assurances, she’s not convinced.

* * *

‘Help me get these asshole shoes off.’

She flops back on her bed, spread-eagle; wiggles her feet in the air for Gladio to remove the offending items.

He surveys her with a raised eyebrow, but indulges her request nevertheless.

‘Okay, lightweight,’ he says as he gently holds her right ankle and opens the zipper of her boot.

Prompto hiccups, the squeak of a mouse.

‘I might be a lightweight,’ she pronounces, ‘but  _ you’re _ my boyfriend.’

Gladio chuckles, the low rumble of it like the whisper fingertips down her spine.

‘Sure am, babe.’

He gets both her boots off — with no help from her — and sets them carefully aside. Next, he makes her sit up and unzips her dress.

Somehow he gets her into pajamas and tucks her away under the covers. Once she’s there, nestled away with the blankets up to her chin, he heads over to his jacket where it’s tossed over the chair at her vanity.

‘Got one last gift for ya,’ he says, returning to the bed with a small box in his hands.

‘You’re spoiling me,’ Prompto says with a giggle.

He already got her tickets to a sold-out show from her favourite band, as well as a huge plush chocobo from her favourite video game series, which currently occupies a corner of her room; she doesn’t think he could possibly top what he’s already given her.

‘Ain’t a trip to Paris or anything like that,’ he says, smiling wryly. He perches himself at the edge of her bed and proffers the box. ‘Only set me back three bucks.’

Prompto lifts an eyebrow as she sits up and takes the gift from his grasp. She shakes it; it doesn’t make a sound. It’s a jewellery gift box, big enough to hold a pendant, but if it only cost three dollars she doubts it’s a necklace.

She shoots Gladio a curious look as she teases open the ribbon, but his face is neutral as he watches her work. Once she has the bow open, she carefully eases the lid of the box off.

Inside it, there’s a key.

‘Is this…?’

‘Yeah,’ Gladiolus says. ‘I figure, I’m always kicking you out so early ‘cause I gotta head to work, but if you’ve got a key you can let yourself in whenever you want.’

Maybe it only cost three bucks — Prompto suspects the gift box costs more — but it’s inarguably the best present she’s received this year. That’s saying something; Ignis started out her morning with an invitation to Paris.

Carefully, she sets the box aside and pulls Gladio into a hug.

‘I love you so much,’ she says, squeezing him tight.

‘Love you too, babe.’

Once Gladio’s undressed and squeezed into the tiny bed beside her, the lights turned off and the room filled with the pale glow of moonlight, Prompto nestles in close to him. Everything’s spinning a little now that the alcohol is starting to wear off, but she can deal with this hangover in the morning.

As birthdays go, this one has been pretty amazing — Gladio meeting her dad went smoother than she ever could have anticipated, and they’ve made plans to have dinner together, all three of them, on the day of.

She sighs happily and buries her face against his chest.

‘It’s, uh. A shame Ignis had to leave.’

She lifts her head at the sound of Gladio’s voice. It’s too dark to properly see his face, so she can’t get a read on his expression.

‘Yeah,’ she murmurs, dropping her head against his chest again. ‘I… kinda felt like something was up? He told me he was just tired, but I dunno…’

She feels Gladio’s fingers thread through the hair at the nape of her neck, raking gently against her scalp. It’s only recently that they got to the point where it doesn’t feel weird to talk about the other guy she’s seeing. There are still moments where she senses he’s a little awkward about the whole thing; this is one of those times.

‘I guess he seemed quiet,’ Gladio agrees. ‘I’m sure it’s nothin’ — probably just outta his comfort zone.’

Prompto shrugs. Maybe he’s got a point. She remembers how out of place she’d felt at the gala — while Ignis adapts well to bigger crowds, maybe it’s the more intimate gatherings that make him feel like a fish out of water.

‘You’re probably right,’ she says.

She tries to put it out of her head as she shuts her eyes. There’s no point in worrying about it now, anyway. Not when Gladio’s here.


	17. The Getaway

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Kinktober Day 24 — _Shower/Bath_**
> 
> Sorry for the delay posting this! I had the bulk of it written, but stuff happened and then it was Christmas and... this little old story kind of got shoved onto the backburner. Still very much chugging along, though! Only a few more chapters to go :D

They call Insomnia the Crown City for the skyline that glitters like a crown of silver; Prompto’s always thought it was a pretty romantic nickname for what amounts to a city filled with skyscrapers of cold, inhuman glass and steel.

Paris, though… The City of Lights, the City of Love — romantic nicknames, sure, but they’re every bit accurate. Whether Ignis is leading her down narrow winding streets of cobblestone, or whether they’re exploring the various tourist traps, it’s impossible for Prompto not to fall in love with the place.

They’re only here for three days and it hardly seems like long enough.

They spend the first day getting the tourist spots out of the way: the Louvre, the Eiffel Tower. Ignis treats her to dinner at the hotel since they’re too drained to dine out, and they eat on the balcony of their room, overlooking the city at night.

Their second day is more subdued, spent wandering Montmartre and, later, the flower markets on the Île de la Cité. Come evening, they head for the bistro where Ignis has a table waiting for them.

It’s a quaint little place, squirreled away between a bakery and a gift shop; the sign over the entrance has the name  _ Tournesol _ in hand-stencilled calligraphy, with a motif of sunflowers painted on the window. Somehow, unlike every other eatery they’ve passed, the place isn’t packed to the gills — the bistro occupies such a small footprint that there are only a few tables within, and the conversation of the other patrons as they step up to be seated is soft and unobtrusive.

‘Not what I was picturing,’ Prompto murmurs, glancing around.

‘Can’t always wine and dine in expensive restaurants,’ Ignis says with a sly smile. ‘The food’s a bit heartier here. Perfect for the colder weather.’

They’re given a seat by the window, which affords Prompto a view of the street while they wait to order. From time to time, people walk by — families, tourists, couples holding hands. As the evening steadily darkens, the street lamps outside take on a merry glow, lending the place a cosy feel.

‘Thank you so much for this,’ Prompto says, reaching across the table to take Ignis’s hand.

‘You don’t need to thank me,’ he replies. ‘I’ve been thinking about bringing you here since our first date — I’m glad I could make it a reality.’

‘You brought me to Paris, Ignis,’ Prompto says with a sheepish grin. ‘I don’t know what I’m gonna do for  _ your _ birthday.’

She thinks maybe Ignis goes a little stiff. When he gently slips his hand free of hers to pick up his menu, he seems to loosen up again; maybe she imagined it.

‘There’s plenty of time until February,’ he says, before lifting his eyes to meet hers with a smile. ‘Not that I’m  _ expecting _ anything, at any rate.’

The menu isn’t what she’d expect from an eatery in Paris, but she decides it’s not such a bad thing as Ignis translates the options for her. She’s dined French in Insomnia before — brought by Iris to fancy restaurants for birthdays and other special occasions — and always found the fare a little rich for her taste. The menu here has everything from the traditional french  _ cassoulet _ to steak to burgers and fries, although the latter mentions some fancy garnish that she doubts she’d find at a diner back home.

In the end she enlists Ignis’s help in picking something out, since he knows his food so well. Ignis selects smoked salmon for himself to start, and a seasonal soup for Prompto; he orders a goats cheese quiche for his main, with Prompto picking the beef lasagna for herself. There are desserts, too, but they leave off ordering until later.

The waiter brings a bottle of wine for them — something deep-coloured and fragrant — and as Prompto sips  the liquid the reality finally sinks in that she’s drinking wine in a bistro in France, with the most glamorous person she’s ever met.

A year ago, she wouldn’t have thought any of it possible.

She figures they’ve got a good thing going, as impossible to define as it might be. She never did get around to talking about his odd body language at her birthday party — Ignis had been fine when they had spoken the next day, and it had felt like jinxing things to try to bring it up after the fact. There are moments where it feels like Ignis isn’t entirely  _ present, _ but she always writes it off as his mind wandering to any of the numerous duties he’s responsible for in his line of work.

Still, as she watches him lift his glass to his lips as he absently looks through the window, she feels that familiar flutter of unease. There’s something going on in his head, something that makes his brow furrow microscopically where he sits. 

He realises she’s watching him eventually; flicks his glance towards her, and then resolves his features into a smile.

‘Something the matter?’ he asks.

Prompto’s just as quick as he is to shake any residual worry from her expression, flashing him a cheery grin. Whatever’s on his mind — whether it’s about her or not — she doesn’t want to ruin their trip together. Whatever it is, it can wait.

‘Nope,’ she says. ‘Just can’t wait to eat!’

* * *

Light filters through the curtains of the hotel room; with her eyes squeezed shut against the illumination, Prompto stretches her legs out toward the end of the bed and relishes the softness of the sheets.

As she grudgingly eases her eyes open, she turns over to slip her arm around Ignis — but his side of the bed is empty and cold.

It’s not the first time in their months together that she’s woken up to find Ignis gone, but it’s no less disappointing now than the first time. Sometimes she wishes he would wake her before leaving for work, but he goes at the crack of dawn some mornings, long before she’s functional. 

She sighs and rolls onto his side of the bed, and she’s about to bury her face in his scent on the pillow when she spots the note there, written on the hotel’s letterhead.

_ Darling, _

_ You were sleeping so peacefully I didn’t want to disturb you. I’ve just popped out to run some errands — even on holiday I’m never off the clock, am I? — but I’ll be back soon. _

_ Order whatever you like for breakfast. Once you’ve had your shower, we can have a last wander before we head for the airport. _

_ — Ignis _

She orders some scrambled eggs and toast and a pot of tea, a beverage which she’s become borderline addicted to since Ignis showed her how to properly brew a cup. Once she’s eaten she lazes around for a while enjoying the plush comfort of the bed; she takes so long that Ignis is back by the time she finally drags herself out from under the covers.

‘I thought you’d be showered by now,’ Ignis says affectionately as he lets himself in.

He has a single shopping bag in his hands. Judging by the front of it, it’s some fancy boutique — yet another gift for Prompto, no doubt.

She eyes it suspiciously as he makes his way over to the bed. Before he gives it to her, he slips his arm around her waist and pulls her into a kiss.

When they finally break apart long enough for her to open the bag, there’s a set of bra and panties inside — both red lace, fastened with little ribbons on the straps and the hips. Prompto might be a little more accustomed now to receiving such gifts from Ignis, but it’s still breathtaking to see the things he tracks down for her.

‘Ignis,’ she sighs, brushing her fingers over the lace. ‘It’s stunning.’

He smiles as he watches her pick the bra up; as she holds it up to admire it in the light, he reaches out and strokes the pad of his thumb against her cheek.

‘I know it’s a woeful cliche,’ he says, ‘but it’s not nearly as beautiful as you.’

He’s right — it  _ is _ a cliche — but nevertheless it makes her blush in appreciation.

She walks to the mirror with the set and holds it up to herself. She’s still in pajamas — grey silk ones comped by the hotel, monogrammed with her initials — so she has to use a little imagination to picture herself in the lingerie. She’s holding the bra up to her face to admire the way the colour brings out the flush of her cheeks when Ignis steps up behind her, wrapping an arm around her waist and pressing close.

‘Why don’t you try it on?’ he murmurs, mouthing kisses into her neck.

_ ‘Because,’ _ she says, wriggling away with a grin, ‘I need to shower first.’

‘What a travesty,’ Ignis teases.

He nudges the collar of her shirt aside, and as his lips move lower Prompto gives a shiver of pleasure.

They have enough time before check-out to take another tumble in the sheets — where she can see the bed in the mirror, it certainly seems to call to her — but she’s torn. There’s still so much she hasn’t seen of Paris, more than she could hope to pack in in one morning, but now that they’re at the end of their romantic getaway together she’s dreading the end of it.

_ ‘Ignis,’ _ she sighs, twisting in his arms. ‘Behave yourself.’

One of his eyebrows arches, his lips a smirk.

‘Isn’t that  _ my _ line?’ he says.

With a roll of her eyes, she gently nudges him out of the way. Maybe she swings her hips a little as she walks past him to set the lingerie on the bed; maybe she wants to tease  _ him _ for once.

‘I’m going to shower,’ she says, deliberately overloud, as she crosses toward the bathroom. ‘Hopefully there won’t be any interruptions while I’m in there…’

She doesn’t wait to see his reaction. When she slips into the bathroom, she leaves the door open a crack before shedding her pajamas.

He joins her, as she knows he will, while she’s lathering up. She feels the slight draught of cool air as he slides the screen open and steam rushes out; hears the click of the door rolling into place as he shuts it. She’s facing the spray of water so she can’t  _ see _ him, but she  _ feels _ him well enough as he steps up flush behind her, his cock already half-hard.

A sigh escapes her lips at the feel of him there against her ass, although he doesn’t do anything with it yet — instead he uses one hand to brace her hip, the other taking the soap from her grasp. She leans back, unconsciously, into his embrace; relaxes under his touch as he runs the bar in circles over her skin.

With each inch of her that his careful touch crosses, Prompto can feel his erection digging into her just a little harder and more insistent, as though merely exploring her body is enough to excite him.

It’s getting to her too — as he wanders downwards, she can feel that telltale throb between her legs and spreads her thighs just a little. At her ear, Ignis gives a soft chuckle.

While his right hand bathes her, his left slips around her and dips between her thighs. He takes his time, gently teasing against her folds while his other hand keeps lathering her up; once he’s done with the front of her he steps away, removing the touch from between her thighs, and takes up bathing her back. He’s careful and methodical as he works, covering every inch of her skin, and once he’s done he sets the soap aside and uses his hand in its stead.

‘Turn around,’ he murmurs as he finishes; breathlessly, Prompto obeys.

Ignis’s eyes are dark with lust, and he glances her over as though he were taking her in for the first time: where she’s self-conscious about her broad shoulders and narrow, boyish hips, he seems enraptured by what he sees. His gaze lingers on her breasts, and he steps forward to pinch one of her nipples between his fingers, twisting just enough to make it hard and elicit a gasp from Prompto’s lips.

His mouth finds her other breast, teeth grazing over the nipple. As water thunders down her back, she can feel wetness of another kind welling between her thighs in response to Ignis’s touch.

He lets up his biting and moves steadily down, nipping at her flesh periodically. Once he’s kneeling, he slips a hand under her thigh and lifts it, propping it over his shoulder.

From this position, seemingly unfazed by the cold, hard tile beneath his knees, he levels her with a sultry glance.

‘May I?’ he asks.

Prompto swallows thickly. It’s a delectable sight, having Ignis kneeling there between her legs. Although he never relinquishes power — never totally — there are rare moments like this when he plays at letting her have the reins.

She knows he’d go along with it, if she made him beg; tempting as it is to make him work for the privilege, she’d only be teasing  _ herself _ at this rate.

She threads her fingers through the damp strands of his hair, and gives a worldless nod. He wastes little time in leaning forward and dipping his tongue between her lips.

It’s jarring, how even that first touch sets her thrumming with need; how her body seems to lean of its own volition towards him, quivering at each practised flick of his tongue. As he goes, he kneads his fingers into the flesh of her thigh.

Impossible as it is not to tug at Ignis’s hair by way of encouragement, he doesn’t seem to mind — seems to enjoy it, even, as she grabs a fistful of it tightly in her grasp, prompting a moan from him against her sex. She urges him on, and he happily sets to her with tongue and lips, at turns dipping his tongue within her and moving up to suck her clit.

‘Ignis,’ she sighs, sinking into the twin warmth of the water and of his mouth between her legs.

The moan he gives is lost between her lips, the sound almost desperate. When she looks down, he’s touching himself and the sight of it, the image of him giving in to his desire, is something she files away for whenever she’s next alone.

She lets him bring her to the brink — and before she can tip over the edge, she tugs at his hair and bucks her hips away, her chest heaving with the exertion of a stolen orgasm.

She wants to come, but not like this — she wants him closer, here,  _ now. _

‘Fuck me,’ she pleads, her eyes finding his.

He doesn’t argue; doesn’t hesitate as he rises and scoops her into his arms, lifting her up. It takes him scarcely any effort to lower her onto his waiting cock, and as he walks her back against the wall she wraps her thighs tight around him.

He seems to match her fervour as he thrusts into her, his hand tilting her head to the side so he can mouth at her throat.

‘Oh, love,’ he breathes.

The sound of his voice — of the desperation laced through it — makes her throb around the length of him. She uses his hips for leverage and works herself onto him in time with his thrusts, and with one hand squeezed between the two of them to touch herself and her other arm clinging tightly around his neck, she finds her way back to the edge.

‘Come for me, darling,’ he says, as though he knows. Of  _ course _ he knows; he always does.

He picks up the motion of his hips against her, and it’s like this — holding tightly onto him, burying her face against his shoulder and uttering incoherent little moans — that she finally gives in.

He’s not far behind, giving a last few strong pumps before giving a low groan and faltering, bracing his arm against the wall behind Prompto to keep them both upright.

* * *

‘I don’t want to go,’ Prompto sighs.

It’s torture to think that in a matter of hours they’ll be back in Insomnia: back in the usual rhythm of their lives. She’s trying to enjoy the view of the Seine as they walk beside it, along a scenic cobblestone street, but it’s hard to ignore the looming weight of their departure.

‘I know, darling,’ Ignis murmurs, giving her hand a squeeze.

It’s some quiet little road off the beaten track, lined with apartments and quaint shops. It’s unremarkable, except maybe in its simplicity; there’s little other than the river to distract them.

Steadily, Ignis draws to a halt by a bench, where he tugs her gently over to sit beside him.

‘Please tell me we can come back someday,’ Prompto whines, nestling her head into his shoulder. ‘I feel like I barely scratched the surface of this place.’

‘If that’s what you want, love.’

The time before their flight is rapidly dwindling, but they seem content to ignore reality as they sit in silence together by the water’s edge. It’s late in the afternoon, so the sun’s already beginning to dim, lending the sky a hue of pink and gold.

It’s probably perfect, as far as goodbyes go in Paris. It doesn’t make Prompto any less reluctant to leave.

‘I have something for you,’ Ignis says quietly. ‘A proposal, rather.’

That has Prompto’s interest. With a grin, she presses a hand to his chest and twists to peer at him.

‘A  _ sexy _ proposal?’ she teases. ‘Because you know we really don’t have much time before the flight.’

Ignis sighs, and if she didn’t know him better she’d think he was exasperated. He dispels the possibility of such a worry by stroking a hand through her bangs and pushing them aside, leaning in to kiss her cheek.

‘I want to fly you home for Christmas,’ he says. ‘Unless you have plans with Gladiolus.’

The suggestion hits Prompto squarely in the chest and she can only look at him for a moment in surprise. It’s such a generous offer — especially when she couldn’t head home for the holidays last year, since she was flat broke — and while she knows there are no strings attached, she can’t help feeling guilty.

It’s the mention of Gladio that puts the seed of doubt into her head.

‘You don’t have to do that,’ she says quickly. ‘I mean — you’re amazing for offering, but I  _ couldn’t—’ _

‘Prompto,’ Ignis says, with a shake of his head. ‘You let me fly you out to Paris. If you’re going to let me spoil you, at least allow me to give you something worthwhile.’

Prompto could argue that it’s  _ because _ he whisked her away to Paris that she can’t accept, but it’s not just that.  __

‘We could spend the holidays together instead,’ she says. ‘You don’t go home any more, right? So you’re gonna be all alone in Insomnia and—’

‘Prompto,’ Ignis interjects. He’s smiling fondly. ‘I’ll have parties to mingle at aplenty. Please, let me do this for you.’

With a squirming feeling in her stomach, Prompto glances out toward the Seine. She won’t disagree that nothing would make her happier than to go home for Christmas — and she knows that when she’s happy, Ignis is happy. Still, she can’t be sure if the feeling of doubt is guilt over him lavishing gifts on her, or something else.

‘Think about it, at least,’ Ignis says gently. ‘I promise you it would be no trouble at all.’

‘All right,’ Prompto says with a sigh. ‘I’ll  _ think _ about it.’

She nestles against him again, head tucked under his chin, the steady thrum of his heart against her ear. The question nags at her, filling her with misgivings; she does her best to push it all aside and focus on the view and on the warmth of Ignis against her, in their last stolen moments in the City of Lights.


	18. The Party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Kinktober Day 27 — _Exhibition/Voyeurism_**
> 
> Ahhhhh it has been a _long_ while since I updated this, I'm so sorry. Life gets in the way, and it's surprisingly difficult to write smut when I'm stressed. Weird, huh 🤔

Prompto grabs another glass of champagne from the tray as the waiter swings by. It’s not that the evening is going badly — she’s having fun — but given that she’s a Midwestern girl at a party where there are  _ waiters, _ she’s feeling a little out of place.

‘Pace yourself, girl,’ Iris says, with a laugh. ‘You trying to outdrink Gladdy?’

Prompto snorts and peers across the room to make sure Gladio’s still where she left him.

She’d been worried he’d feel out of his depth here, but he seems more than happy to sip on liquor and shoot the breeze with the other guests.

‘He’s a natural,’ she sighs. ‘I’m officially the only person who doesn’t fit in here.’

Iris winds an arm around her waist and rests a cheek against her shoulder.

‘I mean, he’s had practice. Daddy used to drag him to all the hospital fundraisers until I was old enough.’

Prompto touches the brim of the champagne glass to her lip thoughtfully.

It’s easy to forget that Gladio grew up in the same home as Iris — he’s rejected so much about that lifestyle in everything from his dress sense to the way he walks and talks. She can see it now, though: the confidence, the posture. That he looks like a million bucks in his pressed black shirt, sleeves rolled up to the elbows and collar rakishly undone, probably helps.

‘Enjoying the view?’

She glances up; Ignis stands nearby, a hint of amusement in the smile he wears on his lips.

Somehow he outshines all the celebrities, politicians and multi-millionaires on the guestlist. His hair’s swept up and to the side in an artfully messy pompadour that probably took hours to perfect. The tailored shirt he wears — deep purple with leopard print in glossy black — is unbuttoned to just below his collarbone; his eyes, glasses nowhere to be seen, are ringed with just a hint of dark liner; his lips are a soft, pale tinted pink.

Thoughts of dragging him off and biting his plump bottom lip wash over her, and she practically has to shake her head to dislodge the image.

When Ignis moves to kiss her cheek, she arches up towards him; just the brush of his lips against her skin makes her heart skip into overdrive.

‘I’m gonna go find Noct,’ Iris says, shooting Prompto a meaningful look before slipping away.

Prompto expects Ignis to wrap an arm around her, but he maintains a polite distance once Iris has left. It’s not chilly, exactly, but it’s different to what she’s used to — different than all the affection he’d showered her with in Paris. She can’t help but think of her birthday, and how distant he’d seemed.

‘Thank you,’ she says, rubbing at her arm. ‘For inviting Gladio.’

When she looks at him he’s glancing around the gathering of guests, his expression neutral.

‘Of course. I wouldn’t have had it any other way.’

He seems sincere enough, and maybe she’s imagining things, but his gaze seems to land on Gladio for just a moment before moving on.

‘Music’s great,’ she says, nodding her head to the beat.

She’s making small talk, she realises. She’s slept with this guy countless times, flown to Paris with him, and she’s making  _ small talk _ with him.

‘Is…’

She chews her lip, looking down at her champagne glass. From the sound of clothing shifting against skin, she guess he’s watching her, waiting for her to continue.

‘Is everything cool between us?’

A hand touches her elbow. It’s warm and comforting, but she still feels that knot in her stomach.

‘Of course. Why do you ask?’

She clears her throat. It’s probably just  _ her, _ but — she can’t help thinking things have been weird between them for some time now, not just tonight.

‘I don’t know,’ she says awkwardly, brushing a hand through her hair. ‘Guess we’ve just barely spoken all night, and you’ve been kinda…’

‘Distant?’ Ignis supplies.

Prompto’s gut lurches. Somehow, hearing it from Ignis doesn’t make it sound any less bad. She fidgets with the stem of her champagne flute and looks down at her shoes — stompy black boots that don’t  _ quite _ go with her designer dress — and nods.

‘I feel like I’ve barely talked to you since I got here,’ she says, glancing up at him. ‘And other than kissing me on the cheek, you haven’t really been… affectionate, I guess.’

‘Ah.’

She wrinkles her nose.

_ ‘Ah? _ What does that mean?’

He’s smiling.  _ Smirking. _

‘I’m afraid I made the assumption that you might want to go light on the displays of affection for Gladio’s sake.’

His hand moves to the top of her spine, and slides slowly downwards.

‘Of course, I could change that,’ he says, leaning closer to murmur into her ear, ‘if you like…’

His touch sends shivers through her. She’s just sinking into his touch when she spots Gladio watching them — reflexively, she tenses, but Ignis’s lips brush her ear.

‘If he’s jealous, he can come and get you himself.’

Next thing she knows, he’s slipping up behind her, his hips flush with hers, hands on her waist. There’s some dancey song playing, not something she would usually like, but the beat is intoxicating as Ignis moves, guiding her along with him.

Across the room, Gladio’s eyes land on them.

‘Seems we’ve caught his attention,’ Ignis murmurs at her ear.

His hands smooth down to her hips and tug playfully at the hem of her skirt, easing it up her thighs. She knows they  _ shouldn’t _ — not with so many guests around — but the feel of his hands on her is irresistible. She sinks into him, closing her eyes and letting the music wind through her.

When she looks up again, Gladio’s watching her over the brim of his drink. He seems to have shifted his attention from whatever conversation he’s engaged in.

Prompto feels that familiar little lurch of anticipation while she waits to see how he’ll react. She watches him clap one of his group on the shoulder and excuse himself from the conversation, and as he strides across the floor, her pulse quickens.

Ignis never lets up. If anything, now that he knows he’s caught Gladio’s eye, he only seems to step up his efforts. His hips grind against hers and she finds herself wrapped up in the heat of him, blind to everybody else in the room — everybody, of course, except Gladio.

‘Think I could steal Prompto away for a dance?’ Gladio says.

Prompto wishes she could see Ignis’s face. She knows this is all a part of some game, and if Gladio’s willing to play it, she is too.

‘Certainly,’ Ignis says at her ear. ‘If the lady obliges, of course.’

She can only giggle. She twists in his arms and kisses him on the cheek before slipping away and over to Gladio.

He’s warm and big and his arm wraps around her, holding her close. He smells so  _ good. _ Iggy had, too, but his scent is different: coal soap and spiced aftershave.

‘What’re you drinking?’ she asks. ‘Gimme a sip.’

He lets her sniff it — it’s rum and it’s  _ strong, _ like he put barely a splash of Coke in to mix it — but he pulls it away before she can try to taste it.

‘Uh-uh. 75% proof, babe.’

‘I can handle it,’ she protests with a pout.

He answers her with a laugh, the rich sound of it sinking down to her belly smoother than any liquor.

He lifts his glass to his lips, and casual as can be, he slips his other hand down to sit on her ass. It’s not the contact itself that sends a surge of arousal through her — it’s knowing that he’s doing it for Ignis’s sake, his eyes locked on the other man’s. He’s only gotten more competitive since that first night they all spent together.

‘Gladdy,’ she murmurs, stretching up to kiss his cheek. ‘Are you  _ trying _ to make him jealous?’

She feels his hand wander down her thigh, the tips of his fingers teasing under the hem of her skirt. They’re not dancing — but then, that was never the point, was it?

‘Like he didn’t start it,’ Gladio says gruffly. When she looks up at him, he’s got a smirk playing across his lips.

His fingertips are brushing up the inside of her thigh now, goosebumps following in their wake; Prompto shivers as that familiar heat surges between her legs.

When she presses against him, his cock digs into her thigh. Is what he’s doing now that got him all worked up, or was it watching her with Ignis?

‘Well.’ She wets her lips and stretches up to his ear, playing at the bitch of skin exposed where his shirt’s unbuttoned. ‘How about we give him something to  _ really _ be jealous of?’

She moves to kiss him, her tongue snaking into his mouth as he readily opens it. The soft moan he gives is all the encouragement she needs; feeling a little bold, she pushes her hips into his and grinds slowly, subtly, like she’s just moving to the music.

They’ve done worse than this, that night at the club, so many months ago — but Prompto still can’t help being a little self-conscious knowing that she’s in a room surrounded by the rich and famous.

It helps to tune them out; to just think about Gladio against her as she dances, and Ignis watching them.

When she glances back to gauge Ignis’s reaction, he doesn’t disappoint. Outwardly, he’s composed as he sips champagne. She can see the heat at his cheeks, though, and the way his eyes gleam with interest.

‘F’you don’t stop, I’m gonna have to call us an Uber,’ Gladio chuckles. ‘Ain’t as good at keeping my cool as Mr. Tailored Shirt over there.’

She turns back to Gladio and stretches up on tiptoes to his ear.

‘Follow me.’

He’s bemused, but he comes along with a smirk as Prompto takes his hand and leads him away.

She shoots one last look back at Ignis — of course he’s still watching — before she goes. Either he’ll follow, or he won’t. She hopes he does.

She knows the way to Ignis’s bedroom like the back of her own hand, but she takes Gladio past the door to it and further down the hallway, past the bathroom with the  _ huge _ tub that she and Ignis have made more than a few memories in, and only stops when she gets to the guest room at the end.

The room doesn’t see much use, but the bed is neatly made and when Prompto flips the switch, the lights come on in a warm glow. She leaves the door unlocked when she shuts it.

‘You sure this is a good idea?’ Gladio asks, with a raised eyebrow. Even as he speaks, though, he runs his hands down Prompto’s body, tugging at the hem of her blouse. ‘What if somebody walks in?’

Prompto swings for an innocent look as she stretches up and cups his jaw.

‘What, like Ignis? Geez, wouldn’t that be  _ terrible?’ _

She knows, when she watches his eyebrow quirk, that she’s got him. He’s got that roguish grin he always gets when he likes where things are going, and he scoops her up easily, bringing her over to the bed.

She expects him to toss her onto it like he’s done so many times before, but instead he sets her down on the edge of it. He drops to his knees in front of her, that look in his eyes, and it’s enough to set her aching in anticipation.

He winds an arm under her right leg and lifts it. He leaves kisses up along the way as he goes — from her calf, up to her thigh, and when he reaches the end of her stocking and finds the creamy flesh there he takes to it with his tongue and leaves a trail leading upward.

She’s already trembling in anticipation, already throbbing with need. She can tell she’s wet and they’ve barely just begun.

Gladio sits up a little to push her skirt up past her thighs, and just as he moves as if to tug her panties down, he stops, an infuriating grin on his lips.

‘What if somebody walks in and it ain’t Ignis?’

Prompto nibbles at her lip.

‘Then we give them a show instead.’

She can’t keep a straight face for long, and a giggle bursts out unprompted. It isn’t long before Gladio joins in with his own gravelly laughter and leans in to grace her with a kiss.

His lips are still on hers when his fingers slip under the band of her panties. Without breaking from him, she lifts her hips to help him as he eases them downwards. He has to pull away to get them off, but he makes a treat out of it — his eyes hold hers as he edges them slowly, teasingly down her legs, over her stockings, and carefully around her heels.

‘You’re a tease, you know that?’ he says.

When he pushes Prompto’s thighs apart, she can’t help but shiver.

The rasp of his facial hair against her skin is enough to set her twitching. She’s dripping wet by the time he gets up to her sex. His face is buried between her thighs when the door opens; his tongue between her folds when Ignis appears in the doorway, in silhouette against the lights of the hallway.

Ignis stands there for a long while, like he’s waiting for an invitation. Prompto can feel her cheeks heating under his hungry gaze.

It’s Gladio that breaks the stalemate. Sitting up, he wipes his mouth clean and twists to face the other man.

‘You coming in or what?’

Time seems to still as Prompto watches Ignis linger at the door. When he takes that first step forward, her heart leaps.

He locks the door behind him — it’s not like they’re expecting anybody else — and crosses the floor to Gladio’s side. He’s a different animal here than out in the midst of the party; elegant, and quietly commanding. When he touches a hand to Gladio’s jaw and nudges his head once more to his earlier task, Gladio obeys without question.

A little thrill goes through Prompto at this exchange. She’s used to giving in to Ignis’s whims, but to see Gladio go along with it so eagerly…

Once Gladio gets back to work, Ignis sets his sights on Prompto. His fingertips play idly over her thigh as his eyes land on hers.

‘Couldn’t contain yourselves for just a few more hours?’ he says. He’s not annoyed — amused.

Gladio lifts his head with a cocky grin.

‘You can leave us to it, if you want.’

Ignis turns his glance on the other man, his hand taking up a grip on Gladio’s jaw once more.

‘I didn’t tell you to stop,’ he says.

That fire in Gladio’s eyes — that wilful disobedience, coupled with arousal, takes Prompto’s breath away. A moment later he’s between her thighs again, and when he sucks his clit into her mouth she can’t help but give a soft gasp.

‘Now, pet,’ Ignis says. He strokes her cheek; his voice is as tender for her as his touch. ‘Does that feel good?’

Prompto doesn’t trust her voice. She gives a hurried nod, her cheeks hot.

His hand slips down, his fingertips brushing over her lips. When she parts them, he slips them in and she sucks on them willingly, just as Gladio’s tongue dips inside her and prompts a whine of need from her.

The look in Ignis’s eyes is triumphant, almost. Praising.

‘I think Prompto deserves a treat,’ Ignis says, his eyes still on hers. ‘Don’t  _ you, _ Gladiolus?’

Gladio makes a husky sort of groan between Prompto’s thighs. It’s pretty unintelligible, but Prompto can figure out the gist of it.

Her heart thumps in excitement — she doesn’t know what’s coming, but knowing Ignis, it’ll be  _ good. _

He pulls away from her, his attention turning to Gladio.

‘She’s exquisite, isn’t she?’ he purrs. ‘I’d like a taste.’

Gladio laps at her a few more times — she’s already so sensitive she twitches under his touch — before pulling away and gesturing permissively to Ignis.

‘Be my guest,’ he says.

Ignis stays where he is. His face is cool and impassive, but there’s just a hint of a smile curling at the corner of his lips. Prompto realises she knows what’s coming, with a deep, urgent throb of delight between her thighs.

‘You misunderstand.’

His hand slips underneath Gladio’s jaw and tilts it upward. Even though his touch is gentle, even though Gladio could easily pull away if he chose to, he has the other man’s full attention.

‘I want to taste her,’ he says levelly, ‘from those lovely lips of yours.’

This isn’t the first time Prompto’s expected Gladio to refuse one of Ignis’s requests, but she’s sure now that this is a line her boyfriend isn’t willing to cross. Still, the mental image is one that has her aching — and she’s so wrapped up in it that she almost misses the nod Gladio gives.

_ Oh. _

She can only watch in awe as Ignis leans down toward Gladio, his hand tilting the other man’s chin upwards. Gladio’s so quiet, so obedient, his dark eyes trained on Ignis’s — just the sight of it is something Prompto wants to capture forever, wants to frame and hang in the Louvre.

And then Ignis bridges the gap between them, his lips parting as he closes his mouth over Gladio’s.

She doesn’t know if they’re playing it up for her, or if they’re actually into it; she sees Gladio’s tongue snake into Ignis’s mouth, sees the way Ignis threads his fingers through Gladio’s hair and tips his head back.

They look so good together like that that Prompto can only watch in a daze.

The kiss goes on and on, and she’s pretty sure she’s died and gone to heaven — especially when Gladio grabs a fistful of Ignis’s shirt and arches up toward him like he’ll die if he doesn’t get closer.

When they finally break apart, they’re both breathless, chests heaving.

‘About that treat,’ Ignis says.

He glances up; when his gaze lands on Prompto, her heart skips a beat.

‘How would you like to watch us together?’

A chorus of voices scream  _ Yes! _ in Prompto’s head; she can barely bring herself to do little more than give a frantic nod.

Ignis turns his green eyes on Gladio again. With a patient smile, he smooths his hand down to Gladio’s cheek.

‘What do you think?’

‘Yeah,’ Gladio says, his voice thick with arousal. ‘Yeah, we could do that.’

It’s almost surreal to watch as Ignis stretches his hand out and helps Gladio to his feet. When Ignis goes for the buttons of Gladio’s shirt, Prompto’s rapt with attention, watching his fingers work. Gladio takes Ignis by the hips and pulls him close; his mouth finds Ignis’s as his hand wanders down to the buckle of his belt. 

Watching them undress each other is probably the most erotic thing Prompto’s ever seen in the flesh. She knows there’s a part of it that’s a show for her, but it’s not like they aren’t enjoying themselves — Ignis is rock-hard, his cock straining within his pants, and when he moves to kiss Gladio’s throat, Gladio tips his head back with a low rumble of pleasure.

As Ignis undoes the last of the buttons on Gladio’s shirt, he gently slips it off of his shoulders, leaning down to kiss the lines of his tattoo. Gladio’s got Iggy’s fly open now, diving his hand in — Ignis makes an undignified sound as Gladio takes hold of him.

‘Anything off-limits?’ Ignis asks, breathless as he brushes his lips against Gladio’s ear.

Prompto hears Gladio’s low chuckle.

‘Let’s just get a feel for each other, all right? I ain’t ready to go full-on sub like Blondie over there.’

‘Hey,’ Prompto protests, but it’s half-hearted. He’s got a point.

She watches Ignis step back a little and go for his own shirt, making quick work of it. She even catches Gladio eyeing him up, and she can’t blame him: Ignis is unexpectedly muscular underneath his designer clothes.

With both their shirts in haphazard heaps on the floor, Ignis steps closer again and scoops his arms around Gladio’s neck to pull him in for another kiss. Gladio responds with just as much heat, his free arm winding around Ignis’s waist, hand still working at him within his slacks.

They’re different with each other than they are with her — there’s no cat-and-mouse like there is between her and Ignis, and he seems content to let Gladio dictate the pace.

Gladio walks them both towards the bed, until the backs of Ignis’s knees clip the mattress. Once there he pulls away and works his fly open, tugging at his jeans.

‘So who’s on top, pretty boy?’

Ignis glances towards Prompto, but she shakes her head.

‘I’ll let you two figure that out,’ she says with a grin, hopping to her feet.

The chair facing the bed calls to her — she knows she won’t make quite the imposing figure that Ignis did, that night that he’d sat and watched her with Gladio, but she makes for it anyway and settles into it. It’s close enough to the bed that she can rest her foot on the bed if she scooches down a little; she lets her knee fall to the side, her skirt straddling the tops of her thighs.

The others are watching  _ her _ now. With flushed cheeks, she waves them away.

‘Chop chop,’ she says. ‘I’m waiting.’

Gladio gives a laugh as he wriggles out of his jeans and tosses them aside.

‘You’re callin’ the shots now, huh?’

‘It’s my treat, isn’t it?’ she says with a shrug.

Ignis wears a wry grin.

‘She has a point…’

‘Well then,  _ ma’am,’ _ Gladio says, moving over and laying a hand on her thigh. ‘Your wish is our command.’

Prompto chews her lips as she thinks. There’s so much she could ask them to do — if she’s totally honest, the two of them together have featured prominently in her fantasies — so the problem is, she doesn’t know where to  _ start. _

‘Gladdy,’ she says. ‘Lie back on the bed.’

With a raised eyebrow, he obeys; she sets her sights on Ignis next.

‘Those pants look pretty constricting. Why don’t you take them off?’

She watches as he slips lithely out of his slacks, and he’s not the only one. When Prompto shoots a glance toward Gladio, his eyes are on Ignis, his tongue darting out to wet his lips.

Once Ignis is ready, he looks to her for further instruction.

‘I want to watch you go down on Gladio,’ she says, sounding more confident — more sensual — than she feels.

She sees the way Gladio tenses in anticipation as Ignis crawls up the bed. She’d worry that he’s not into it, but he arches his hips up toward Ignis’s touch as he hooks his fingers over the band of his boxer-briefs and slides them down just enough to let his rock-hard cock spring free.

The head of it is purple and already slick. Prompto has to fend off the urge to go over there and get a taste for herself; this is supposed to be about her  _ watching, _ after all.

Ignis takes his time, slowly,  _ teasingly _ lowering himself until he’s kneeling between Gladio’s legs. When he slips his hand up the inside of Gladio’s thigh, the other man shivers; Prompto feels arousal surge through her in anticipation.

Ignis doesn’t disappoint. Sensually, he leans in, his eyes holding Gladio’s, and flits his tongue out to taste the tip of Gladio’s cock. When this prompts a soft grunt of pleasure from Gladio, he does it again, longer and more languidly this time, before finally enveloping the head of Gladio’s cock between his lips.

Another groan sounds from Gladio, softer this time. His brows are knitted together, his eyes closed, mouth hanging wide; when Ignis’s mouth glides gracefully down his length, Gladio tips his head back in pleasure. From where Prompto sits, she can see the way he knots his fingers into the covers. 

Ignis moves fluidly and easily, taking Gladio’s girth with little difficulty. His hand braces Gladio’s thigh almost tenderly, fingertips digging into the muscle there. When Gladio’s hips buck upwards involuntarily, Ignis gives a soft, choked moan around his length.

It’s too much to bear, just watching. Prompto hitches her skirt up past her hips just a little. Sinks into her chair and plays her fingertips up the inside of her thigh, until she gets to the patch of slickness trailing up toward her sex.

Gladio opens his eyes just in time to see her dip her fingers in and pull them away wet; she holds his gaze as she lifts her hand to her mouth and licks her fingers clean.

The groan Gladio gives is  _ unreal. _

‘You’re killin’ me, babe,’ he says breathlessly.

The need in his voice — in his amber eyes — sends a shiver down Prompto’s spine. She parts her legs a little more to give Gladio a better view as she teases at her clit, and even though she aches to feel his skin on hers, taunting him like this is worth it.

‘I’ve got an idea for a game,’ she says idly.

Ignis looks up, Gladio’s cock slipping free of his swollen lips with a wet sound.

‘Do tell.’

‘Don’t stop!’ she chides with a giggle, waving him back to his task.

She waits until his lips are wrapped firmly around Gladio’s erection, his fingers working just beneath, before she continues.

‘How about a little competition? Whoever makes the other come first gets to fuck me.’

‘Doesn’t sound too fair,’ Gladio protests. ‘Pretty boy here’s got a head start.’

Prompto sucks on her bottom lip thoughtfully. He’s right — she needs to level the playing field.

‘You’ll just have to trade places and catch up, won’t you? What do you say, Iggy?’

Another slick noise issues as Ignis’s mouth pops off of Gladio’s cock. For a moment, all Prompto can do is stare at the strand of precum running from Gladio’s slit to Ignis’s lip.

‘Sounds fair,’ he replies. ‘Seems as much a test of stamina as skill.’

‘You’re goin’ down, Ignis,’ Gladio says.

With a smirk, Ignis pushes himself upright and slips out of his boxer-briefs.

‘We’ll see about that.’

Gladio moves to get up, but with a hand pressed gently to his chest, Ignis nudges him back down.

‘I think this will do,’ he says, moving to straddle Gladio’s torso before glancing back toward Prompto. ‘What do you think, pet?’

His cock is just inches from Gladio’s mouth, standing out proud.

Wordlessly, Prompto nods.

With a shrug, Gladio wraps one hand around Iggy’s dick and uses the other to grip his hip. He guides Ignis closer to his open mouth, tongue slipping under the head of it, drawing it in; Prompto has just a second to see the precum beading on his tongue before his mouth closes around Iggy’s cockhead.

He’s noisier than Ignis had been, wet, sloppy sounds issuing from his mouth as he moves. He guides Iggy’s hip, and soon the other man is moving, thrusting slowly in time with Gladio’s motions.

Ignis’s fingers thread through Gladio’s hair, urging him on. The name of the game might be holding off, but Iggy seems more than content to enjoy himself.

Prompto lets her gaze wander, drinking in the way Gladio’s fingertips grip onto Ignis’s hip, the way the muscles tense in Ignis’s thigh as he moves. His head is tipped back, exposing his throat; there’s already sweat beading at his collarbone.

She trails her glance downward, over Gladio’s body. Where his cock stands still exposed over the band of his underwear, it twitches and throbs of its own accord, begging to be touched.

Prompto breathes out slowly. It takes everything she has not to get up and go help out; this is supposed to be a game, after all, and while it might be unbearable  _ now, _ it’ll be worth the wait in the end.

Gladio keeps going until Ignis is trembling and red in the face, pulling away with lips slick with precum and spit. His eyes are turned up toward Ignis, where he looks up at the other man through dark lashes.

‘Figure you’re about caught up, huh?’ Gladio says. With his hand still on Ignis’s cock, he glides it upwards, squeezing the head until precum pools at the tip. ‘We get this started?’

He’s  _ teasing. _ That little smirk on his lips, the way he watches Ignis’s face for his reaction — Prompto feels like the luckiest girl alive.

‘Yes,’ Ignis says. ‘I daresay we can.’

He’s trying so hard to keep a level voice in spite of his ragged breathing that it’s actually  _ cute. _

‘How do you want us, Blondie?’

Prompto’s so lost in their exchange that she almost doesn’t realise Gladio’s talking to her.

‘Uh…’

She runs through her options. The first positions that spring to mind won’t give her the best vantage point — but she wants the guys to be comfortable, too.

Ignis slips away from Gladio, offering him a hand to pull him upright.

‘How about…’

Once he has Gladio on his knees, he edges forward until they’re kneeling in front of each other. He takes hold of Gladio’s hand and guides it down to his dick, closing his fingers around it; with his own hand, he threads his fingers through Gladio’s hair.

‘Like so?’

‘Yeah,’ Gladio says, his voice husky.

Ignis pulls him in close, lips finding his throat; as he nuzzles kisses and bites into the flesh, Gladio turns to watch Prompto. His eyes are on her, but they flutter shut as Ignis wraps a fist around his dick. The moan that slips free of him is so full of  _ wanting _ that it sets Prompto on fire, sets her aching.

With one hand, she slips her fingers inside herself, stroking her clit with the other. Gladio opens his eyes just long enough to catch sight of her before Ignis coaxes a moan from him, low and half-feral.

Gladio’s giving just as good as he gets, though — he pumps his fist over Iggy’s cock, his free hand gripping him by the hip, wandering around to grab at his ass.

They make a beautiful sight together: Gladio’s bulky build and bronzed skin, Iggy’s more lithe figure, his pale skin marked with freckles. They look so  _ into _ it, too, and with the noises they’re making it definitely  _ sounds _ like they’re having fun, too.

Prompto lets out a gasp of her own as a shockwave of pleasure ripples through her, and a heartbeat later Ignis makes a choked sound, dropping his face into Gladio’s shoulder.

‘Ain’t gonna hold out much longer, huh?’ Gladio taunts with a cocky grin.

Ignis isn’t one to back down from a challenge, though, and now is no different. He straightens up and tugs gently at Gladio’s hair so they’re eye to eye.

‘We’ll see about that.’

His mouth meets Gladio’s then, his hand quickening on his cock; they kiss messily, eagerly, each fighting for dominance.

Prompto can feel it within her: the tightness, the coiling up, the anticipation of a climax. She shuts her eyes and rides until she gets to the very edge, easing off with a breathless moan.

When she opens her eyes again Gladio’s groaning against Ignis’s lips, spilling in great bursts over his hands. He goes rigid, and Ignis doesn’t stop stroking him, milking every last drop from him, until he relaxes and slumps against him.

With one last kiss on Gladio’s lips — gently-placed and returned, if a little wearily, by Gladio — Ignis pulls away and stretches out a hand to Prompto.

She tries and fails not to be too eager as she hops off the chair. When she moves to pull off her blouse, Ignis stops her with a gentle hand grasping her wrist.

‘No time for that,’ he says, hoarse. ‘Get over here and let me fuck you senseless, pet.’

It takes a little rearranging as Ignis lays himself out and Prompto moves to straddle him. Gladio’s pride is hurt but at least he’s a good sport about it as he settles down on the other side of the bed to watch, an arm slung behind his head.

Prompto’s so wet she takes Ignis in easily, and her breath hitches once she reaches the hilt of him. He slips his hands beneath her skirt, and with his grasp on her hips, guides her in a steady motion on his cock.

‘She’s beautiful, isn’t she?’ Ignis breathes.

Gladio wears a lazy smile as he reaches out, pushing his hand under the hem of her skirt.

‘She’s somethin’, all right.’

His thumb dips between her folds, rolling her clit in circles. Between that and Ignis underneath her, within her, it’s not long before she feels herself slipping into some faraway place.

She registers their voices — some good-natured back and forth — but she can hardly pick out the words, so intent on the steady rise and fall of her hips against Ignis, on the irresistible feel of Gladio’s touch.

Gladio’s leaning over, getting closer to Ignis. When he cups his cheek and pulls him into a kiss, a pang of pleasure goes through Prompto, so intense her head spins. Their mouths make hungry sounds against each other, and Ignis’s thrusts become more frantic.

She can feel it coming, can feel it rising up within her, pulling her down and threatening to drown her all at once. She feels a shout tearing free of her lungs — distantly she remembers the party going on in the apartment but she can’t stop it, can’t fight the urge.

‘Don’t stop,’ she begs, grinding herself downward. ‘Don’t stop don’t stop—’

It’s not quite a scream that issues from her lips as she crashes into oblivion, but it’s an animalistic sort of sound, and it leaves her throat hoarse.

Gladio’s grinning when the world finally comes back to her. He pulls his hand away and licks at the pad of his thumb with a smirk thrown at Ignis.

‘You still need to get off, right?’ he says. ‘Why don’t I take over and give Blondie here a rest?’

Prompto can hardly bring herself to move. Somehow, slowly, she heaves herself off of Ignis and slumps down beside him in an undignified heap. She’s depleted, but not so much that she can’t watch with interest as Gladio moves down the bed.

His eyes are dark and sensual as he positions himself between Ignis’s legs; he keeps his gaze on Iggy’s as he dips down and closes his mouth around the head of his cock.

‘God,’ Ignis blurts. His skin is hot, covered in a sheen of sweat. ‘I’m getting bloody spoiled today.’

Prompto barely manages a sleepy laugh.

‘Me too.’

She rests her head against Ignis’s chest as she watches Gladio work. The sight of him with his lips around Ignis, bobbing intently, his hand stroking rhythmically up the shaft, is enough to make Prompto want to go again. She would, too, if she weren’t so  _ spent. _

She contents herself with watching, stroking her hand over Ignis’s thigh. She can feel him tensing underneath her, feel his chest heaving where she rests her head.

Gladio slips off, letting his hand take over. Iggy’s cock visibly twitches and throbs — he’s so close, and Gladio’s only bringing him closer with practiced strokes. In the next instant Ignis is coming, his cock spilling freely, and Gladio’s tongue is right there to catch it.

Prompto watches in a daze.

_ Holy fuck, _ is all she can think. What comes out is an awestruck moan.

Gladio looks at her, all cocky smiles, and crawls up the bed. When he leans over her, she opens her mouth willingly to meet his kiss; his tongue tastes of salt, of  _ Ignis. _

He settles down at her other side, wedged by the edge of the bed. It’s not as big as Iggy’s so there’s not too much room, but they just about manage to all fit together with a little shifting around.

‘Prompto sandwich,’ she says dreamily.

Gladio laughs, a rumble at her ear.

A cheer rings out elsewhere in the house — a chorus of shouts, barely intelligible.

‘Ah,’ Ignis says ruefully. ‘I think it’s safe to say it’s midnight.’

* * *

Prompto wakes up to the wan light of dawn and the certainty that it is far,  _ far _ too early to be awake.

She snuggles into Ignis’s warmth behind her, and reaches out a hand to rest it on Gladio’s chest — but his side of the bed is empty, the sheets cool.

‘Time is it?’ Ignis slurs.

‘Early. Go back to sleep, Iggy.’

He mumbles something, but the soft, level sounds of his breathing soon fill the room.

She tries to settle down again, but the space left beside her is too empty, and she misses Gladio’s comforting presence, misses his legs tangled up in her own.

Carefully, so she doesn’t wake Ignis, she edges out of the bed, pulls on his discarded shirt and a pair of sweats from her side of the closet, and slips out the door.

Gladio’s not in the guest room, so she pads down the hallway toward the rest of the house. She passes little leftovers of the party as she goes: pieces of glitter confetti, empty glasses. The only other New Year’s parties she’s ever been to in other people’s homes were pretty chaotic, so she’s relieved to see there’s no spilled beer staining Ignis’s floor.

Gladio isn’t in the living room, either, but movement out on the balcony catches her eye, and she spots him out there, leaning over the railing with his back to her.

Cold air hits her as soon as she steps outside. It’s easy to forget it’s December — January, now — after spending so long in the warmth of Ignis’s place. She shuffles over to Gladio and hugs him from behind until a sharp, unpleasant smell hits her nose.

‘Are you…’

She pulls away and peers around his shoulder. He has a cigarette in one hand, the other draped over the rail.

‘I didn’t know you smoked,’ she says.

He shrugs.

‘Used to. Till Iris found out and kicked my ass.’

The mental image brings a smile to Prompto’s lips. She can picture it clearly — Gladio might have a few years and some serious weight on Iris, but she’s  _ tough. _

She slips an arm around him and takes the cigarette out of his hand before resting it between her lips. It burns going down, just like she remembers from those stray drags she took back in college. With a little cough, she hands it back.

‘Couldn’t sleep?’ she says.

He’s silent; she hears the sound of the embers burning as Gladio takes a drag, then the puff of breath as he exhales a plume of smoke into the chill morning air.

Sighing, Prompto slips her arm through Gladio’s and rests her head against his shoulder.

‘Iggy still sleepin’?’

She nods against him. When he takes another drag, she reaches out to try again, and it goes down a little smoother this time. Menthol, she realises — the kind the popular girls back in high school used to smoke.

‘Thinkin’ I’ll get moving,’ Gladio says. ‘Kinda awkward spending the morning, just us three.’

Prompto wrinkles her nose. He’d seemed fine sharing a bed when they’d finally turned in — he and Ignis had even shared some chatter over drinks while the night wore on.

‘It’s not awkward,’ she protests, pulling away. ‘Iggy likes you, Gladio.’

‘Sure.’

He lifts the cigarette to his mouth again, and after a final drag, tosses it out over the balcony. The smoke that drifts from his lips makes the distant sunrise look hazy.

Unease tugs at her stomach. They’d all been so good when they curled up in bed; she can’t help the distinct, unpleasant feeling that something has changed.

‘Baby,’ she murmurs, plucking at his sleeve. ‘What’s going on?’

She watches his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows. He’s quiet for so long that the feeling of uneasiness only grows, and she pulls her hand away, wrapping her arms around herself.

‘I can’t buy you fancy lingerie,’ he says, still looking out over the scenery. ‘Can’t fly you out to Paris on the spur of the moment.’

Involuntarily, Prompto snorts.

‘So? What’s this about, Gladdy?’

‘I’ve seen what it’s like with him, Prom,’ he says. ‘Fancy galas. Hundred-dollar bottles of booze. That ain’t me.’

So that’s what this is about?

‘If it makes you uncomfortable, I get it,’ she replies, shrugging her shoulders. ‘It weirded me out a little too, but it’s just Ignis. It’s not like he—’

‘You don’t get it,’ Gladio interjects. ‘I can’t compete with that, Prompto.’

She frowns and shakes her head, grappling to make sense of things. They’d been fine — better than fine.

‘You don’t  _ need _ to compete. You think I’m with Ignis for his money?’

Gladio sighs. When he turns toward her, it’s hard to tell if he’s angry or upset.

Her mind’s whirring, jumping to all kinds of conclusions.

‘So you’re fine with getting stood up ‘cause I’m on call?’ he prompts. ‘Cool with shitty gifts? I couldn’t even fly out to spend Christmas with you and your old man because I couldn’t get the days.’

‘Gladdy—’

Gladio cuts her off with a wave of his hand.

‘Forget it, Prompto. Get some sleep. I’ll call you later.’

He’s brushing past her before she can think. Head reeling, she reaches out and catches his arm, tugging at it.

‘Wait, can we talk about this?’ she says. ‘I don’t understand what’s going on.’

He huffs out a sigh.

‘Ain’t about to have this conversation right now, Prom. Not here.’

When he tries to pull away, she grips tighter onto his shirt; with a heated glance back at her, he yanks his arm away.

_ ‘What _ conversation?’ she blurts. She doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry; she doesn’t know where all of this is coming from. ‘Gladdy, what’s this about?’

‘I see you with him, and he’s everything I’m not,’ Gladio says sharply. ‘He gets you internships with magazines, he shows you the world, and I’m here holdin’ you back.’

It feels like Prompto’s swallowed glass. Her throat’s tight, and it’s everything she can do to hold it together, to try not to let the urge to cry take over.

‘Are you breaking up with me?’

She regrets the words as soon as they’re out. She doesn’t want to hear the answer.

He turns away, moving toward the nearby table. On its surface is a pack of menthol cigarettes — probably forgotten by one of the guests. He helps himself to another and perches himself against the glass of the table while he lights it.

‘No,’ he says flatly. ‘I don’t know. All I know is, when it comes down to choosin’ him or me, it ain’t gonna be me.’

His words ring hollow and so, so bitter in Prompto’s ears.

She never meant to  _ choose _ either of them, and yet it feels like Gladio’s making the choice for her.

Her eyes sting; hurriedly, she turns away, brushing hurriedly at her face with the sleeve of Ignis’s borrowed shirt. How many times has she cried in front of Gladio — over the little things, like a bad day at work; over the bigger stuff, too. Somehow, she can’t bear to break down in front of him. Not now.

‘So I don’t get a say?’ she murmurs. ‘You just get to make that call?’

There’s a polite cough — Ignis. Once Prompto’s sure her cheeks are dried, she quickly turns around.

Gladio’s gaze is trained at the ground, his cigarette forgotten in his hand. Ignis stands a little way past him at the opening of the door.

‘Iggy,’ she says quietly. ‘I didn’t mean to wake you, I’m sorry.’

He shakes his head.

He looks surprisingly alert for the hour, his hair stylishly mussed-up, and he’s thrown on a sweater to ward off the cold. He looks drawn, however, as he glances from Prompto to Gladio, and back again.

‘I’m afraid I couldn’t help but overhear.’

Gladio’s head jerks up towards him.

‘Ain’t any of your business, Ignis.’

Iggy shakes his head again. With tightly-pressed lips, he steps out into the middle of the balcony, halfway between Prompto and Gladio.

‘I’m afraid that it is,’ he says. ‘I’m the one complicating things. It seems rather simple, where I’m standing.’

‘Ignis—’

‘Please listen for a minute, Prompto,’ Ignis interrupts. ‘Both of you.’

Gladio sighs and lifts his cigarette to his lips. With a worsening feeling of dread, Prompto nods her head.

‘I never meant to come between the two of you. I thought that we could make this work, but it’s becoming increasingly obvious that something has to give. I won’t be the reason you two break up.’

Prompto chokes back a sound of protest.

‘I don’t  _ want _ to break up!’

‘And yet I’m very much in the middle of things,’ Ignis states. He turns toward Gladio, his gaze warm, if a little sad. ‘You said you’ve seen how Prompto is with me — have you ever considered how it feels to watch her with you? I’ve never seen her smile as brightly as she does with you. When she talks about you, it’s like you’re the only person in the world. Even her father thinks highly of you.’

He glances at Prompto now, and she hates the watery look in his green eyes; hates that this feels so much like a goodbye.

‘You two could have a life together. And I’m in the way of that.’

She looks away. Gladio’s watching her now, expectantly; she realises that he’s waiting for an answer.

They both are.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I recently ran a Twitter poll to see if people would be interested in a choose-your-own style ending for this fic. As the results were pretty unanimous (and since I'd been tempted regardless) I'll be providing different chapters based on the answers people can choose. Keep an eye on this space!
> 
> Edit: I totally forgot to add, Prompto is wearing [this](https://twitter.com/Jillus/status/1113477781961138177?s=19) amazing outfit for this chapter!

**Author's Note:**

> [twitter](http://twitter.com/orchardofbones) | [tumblr](http://theorchardofbones.tumblr.com)


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